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EVERY STORY IN THIS ISSUE BRAND NEW
RANGERS
A THRILLING PUBLICATION wszze)
Nol. 50,No.200 : APRIL, 1953
A Complete Jim Hatfield Novel
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH..:......... Jackson Cole 10
The Lone Wolf, posing as an outlaw, savvied that
the beautiful widow hated rangers. But she had
vast power—and he needed plenty of assistance
A Novelet
HAUNTED SPURS......... Gea a Ss H. A. DeRosso 72
The one girl who never lost faith in Joey made
him remember a thing too dangerous to remember
Five Short Stories
; ONCE A OSAAN.°.. . 2 Gordon D. Shirreffs 58.
A Texas man didn’t count odds—he made his own |
SIXGUN STALEMATE............... SS Jim Brewer 64.
Marshal Jesse Obler had a hard decision to make
EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY..............:...Ben Frank 85
Does it apply only to the four-legged variety?
BrACH. BRAND 23 4 SS C. S. Park 94
- The desert hides nothing from her chosen people :
A BULLET FOR THE PAIUTE KID......... T. C. McClary 101.
Is a man with a shady past necessarily. all bad?
Features =
THE FRONTIER POST............ .se....-Captain Starr
WESTERNETTES........ eis a Sa oe Harold Helfer 9
SAGEBRUSH SAVVY...... See Ss. Omar Barker 71.
Also See Tall Texas Tales on Pages 27 and 45, and
Cartoon Fun on Pages 35 and 79
JIM HENDRYX, JR., Editor
WZ
Py hip
Be
TEXAS RANGERS. Published months S Better Publications, Inc.; at 10 East 40th Street, New York 16, N.Y.
L. Pines, President. Subscription. 2 yearly $3.00, sin nee copies 25c. ” Foreign and Canadian postage extra. Re-entered
as second-class matter April at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., under the Act of March 3, 1879. °
Copyright, 1953, by Better ee icerioes Ing. Manuscripts will not be returned unless accompanied by self-addressed,
stamped envelopes, and are submitted at the author’s risk. Names of all characters used in stories and semi- -fictior
articles are fictitious. {If the name of any real person or existing institution is used, it is a Sat in
corresponding with this publication, please include yee postal zone number, if any. April, 1953,
PRI NTED. iN THE U.S.A.
Justice, by Jones!
A True Western Tale
AM JONES was a square-
shooter who believed
every man should-get his just
dues. Born in 1818, near what
is now Big Lake, Texas, Sam
was only eighteen years old
when he joined up with Gen-
eral Sam Houston and helped defeat the
Mexicans at, the battle of San Jacinto which
-yesulted in the independence of Texas. Gen-
eral Houston personally rewarded Sam for
unusual bravery in that engagement.
Sam spent his next fifteen years herding
cattle over the western plains of Texas, and
helping drive large herds through to St.
Louis. He always claimed the one thing he
couldn’t abide was a-cattle rustler. Accord-
ing to his way of thinking, it was a waste of
state money to give those hombres a trial.
‘String them up to the closest cottonwood
tree and get it over with, was his repeated
advice.
Sam was almost sixty years old when he
was elected judge, and almost overnight his
way of thinking changed. He intended to see
that Texas had law and order, the same as
other states. The citizens must stop taking
the law into their own hands. No more
necktie parties, Sam decreed.
One of Sam’s toughest cases was when a
well-to-do rancher was brought into his
court, charged with stealing cattle. Hiring a
smart lawyer from Austin and paying two
friends to swear he was with them the night
the cattle had been driven off, the thief stood
a good chance of going free. Sam knew the
rancher was guilty, but by the looks of
things, the jury wasn’t convinced. After the
two lawyers’ final pleas, Sam gave the jury
their instructions.
“Gentlemen of the jury, the purpose of this
court is to see that this man gets a fair trial,”
he said, “and I intend to see that he does.
But I know you twelve men are smart
enough not to be took in by no lying cattle
rustler.” :
The jury was out twelve minutes, and
that was the, end of that. cattle rustler’s
career.
o —Loma Andrus
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The Great Indian Robbery
ID America ever really belong to the
Indians? The truth is, the question
never has been decided by any rule of law,
philosophy, reason or justice!
Now then, gals and galluses, if you doubt
this sweeping statement, just string along
with me for a few minutes in a review of
American history.
One year after Christopher Coheaiehs dis-
covered this extensive continent in 1492 (by
planting foot and flag on the beach of an off-
shore island), Pope Alexander VI up and
gave the whole shebang, the entire Western
hemisphere, to. Ferdinand and Isabella of
Spain.
It was the most enormous gift ever known.
This amazing grant was made because the
Indians who inhabited the New World were
considered infidels, and therefore in. the
opinion of the generous donor they were not
entitled to possess the land on which their
. Creator had placed them.
Double Trouble
England and Spain weren’t hitting it off so
good about that time, so naturally the English
king wasn’t plumb enthusiastic about letting
half of the world fall into the royal laps of
the rulers of an enemy country. Henry VII
got his dander up. He sent a footloose cavalier
named John Cabot to look over the unmapped
land, and to take possession of same by right
of exploration, instead of discovery.
As we see it now, the morality of such a
one-sided deal amounted to about the same
in either case. The English not only appro-
priated the far dominions, but they proceeded
to make vassals of the numerous tribes and
barbaric nations.
Barbarians or not, the Indians had gump-
tion enough to object to such a raw deal.
They figured it was their stamping ground.
6
They founded their claim to the soil on
nature, on the grounds of immemorial oc-
cupancy.
If it wasn’t theirs, whose was it?
There at first, it was a three-cornered
ruckus. But in the years that soon followed,
it became a battle royal. The Dutch, Portu-
guese, French and later on the Russians
horned in on the big, rich find. They validated
their seizures not by right of discovery or
exploration, but by right of wse.
Of course, the Indians had used it, too, in
their own fashion. But that circumstance was
brushed aside. After all, here was a vast
extent of valuable, largely vacant and weakly
defended country. Naturally, the “civilized”
countries coveted it.
By the time the Indians got around to fight-
ing for what was theirs, it was too late. If
they'd ganged up on the first arrivals, it
would have been a cinch. But now they were
overwhelmed by European immigrants of one
breed and another who not only out-
- numbered them but who had superior weap-
ons. Guns and that secret weapon of the ;
times, rum.
Legal Shenanigans
Gradually worn down and wearied by =
bloodshed, the Indians consented to treaties,
which solemnly conveyed back to them some
of their ancestral wilderness acreage.
But as the value of land increased, and as/”~
more people came, white men ignored: those
treaties. Either they broke them outright or
found loopholes in them. Sharp legal minds
weaseled around and came up with the
proposition that the Indians didn’t actually —
own the regions they inhabited in the first
place, that it was a common belonging to all
mankind. From this converffent premise, it
was concluded that the Indians had no right
to sell, barter or to dispose of any part of it
by treaty, swap, handshaking or passing
around the peace pipe.
But a maze of inconsistencies show up, as
we examine the past. Most of our eastern
seaboard was purchased—with money, chalk,
marbles, firéwater or beads—here and there,
a hunk at a time. Those deals were okayed
by what is known as “tacit consent.” Who-
ever cooked up that law term sure hit on a
doozey. It works like this. If you knock a
man out with a club, rob him, and he comes
to and sees you still standing there with
poised club, he agrees that what you did was
perfectly okay in order to avoid a new knob
on cn noggin. And that is —_ is known.
“tacit consent.”
The Constant Squabble
- In our great West, most of which was
claimed by Spain, land titles reached back to
Spanish grants which were based on that
whopping gift of Pope Alexander to. Spain.
To complicate it even more, the Spanish
rulers, not to be outdone in generosity, gave
the same grants away several times to dif-
ferent political henchmen. It took land com-,
missions appointed by Washington (D. C.,
not George) to straighten out those tangles.
There are descendants of claimants, both
Spanish and Mexican, who believe they got
an unfair shake. Yet old documents still
-- come to light that contest the findings of the
land commissions. A good many years ago,
a character bobbed up, claiming he was heir
‘to the entire State of Arizona. Things looked
bad for awhile—until his musty records were
~ branded as fakes.
But don’t worry about it. Most of the rest
of this old planet has been taken and retaken
by outright, shameless conquest. In this en- |
lightened age, it is pretty generally agreed |
that right of conquest isn’t any right at all.
Nevertheless, conquest still goes on in other
parts of the world.
But to get back to the American Indian,
about the only way we can right the wrongs
he has suffered is to absorb him gradually
into our democratic way of life. That’s being
done. He is a voter, now on his way to full
citizenship. His benefits are and ever will be
guaranteed by the strongest, clearest and
noblest document conceived by man since his
first feeble reach for freedom under the |
Magna Charta. By the Constitution of the
United States of America, plus the Bill of
Rights.
TO PEOPLE
Who Want to Write
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Do you have that constant urge to write
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WINS WRITING SUCCESS
THOUGH CRIPPLED WITH
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Newspaper Institute of America
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Send me, without cost or obligation, your
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WESTERNETTES
A Roundup of Range
- News Oddities
By
HAROLD HELFER
What’s in a name?’ Boxwell Bros. is an
Amarillo, Texas, undertaking concern. And
on the lighter side—to be taken with a dash
of syrup—was the marriage in Ruidoso, New
Mexico, of Mr. Buckwheat to Miss Pancake.
Montana has 24 fishing ponds for small
fry. You have to be 12 years old or under to
fish in them. It doesn’t say anything about
%
a mentality of 12 years or under, but we -
guess we won't chance it.
Now here are a couple of pretty corny
items: Popcorn was introduced to the white
man by Columbus, who found the Indians
popping it to make necklaces. Whereas a
friendly Indian named Samoset is credited
with introducing corn to our ancestors in
1621. This latter was the pure vegetable, no
- doubt, and we don’t mean the 100-proof stuff
they make back in the hills, neither.
Captain A. H. Hardy, a friend of Buffalo
Bill, could etch out on a board all sorts of
portraits and landscape pictures by firing
away with a sixgun. Which brings to mind
the kind of “etch” you've got to scratch, and
which the great buffalo herds had in such
vast numbers they almost put the first tele-
graph company out of business. Using the
telegraph poles as scratching posts, they used
to wear them out by the score, or so ’tis said.
There’s a million-year-old filling station at -
Lamar, Colorado—it’s made out of petrified
wood, Wooden you know?
5 _
Hamby Patterson, 70-year-old Gainseville
blacksmith, made himself a set of false teeth
out of aluminum pans. It doesn’t happen to
mention whether this Gainseville is the Flori-
da, Georgia, or Cook County, Texas, one.
But we've got our suspicions.
Hell’s Canyon, on the Snake River be-
tween Idaho and Oregon, is deeper than the
Grand Canyon of the Colorado and narrower
across the rims. What a chassis—er, would
you be so kind as to get lost for a couple
minutes, Miss Contour—a chasm, that is.
What a chasm!
Thomas Jefferson believed that mammoths,
the prehistoric elephantlike beasts, roamed
our great plains and he instructed the ex-
-plorers, Lewis and Clark, to look for them on
9
their Western explorations. Well, anyhow,
they found Oregon.
ao Hatfield slammed-his fist to Robusto’s jaw
"
The Lone Wolf, posing as an outlaw, knew the beautiful widow hated
rangers. But she wielded vast power and he needed help. . . .
Taal of the
A Jim Hatfield Novel by JACKSON COLE 3%
CHAPTER I
Dangerous Mission
. NHE two of them were big men, handsome men.
_ They walked side by side, close, like friends—or,
since they somewhat resembled each other, like broth-
ers. In the rainy dark there was nobody on the street
before the Capitol building in Austin to notice that
the two were bound: together not by friendship or by
11
a ad
od
12 TEXAS RANGERS
ties of blood, but by a set of handcuffs.
It was past midnight. The magnificent
red granite building was mostly dark.
The two men mounted its broad steps, ,
then at the entrance one held back. The
other said, firmly but not unkindly,
“Come along, Tom.”
He took the reluctant one inside, their
boot heels and spurs making a clatter in
the empty corridors. They turned into
a lamplighted office where four men wait-
ed. One man sat at the desk; he was the
Attorney General of the State of Texas.
One man lounged in an armchair; he was
Captain Bill McDowell, head of the Texas
Rangers, a man white of hair and mus-
tache that revealed his age, and bright,
youthful eyes that somehow belied it. The
other two were standing by the doorway
at attention, one to either side of it. They
were members of the Frontier Battalion,
the Texas Rangers. The four men stared
with a lively interest at the two who en-
tered. .
Seen in the acaptent ibe resemblance
between the two was less pronounced.
They were of a size, yes. They had the
same bold, well-formed features—in a
general sense. But the one who took a
key from his pocket and unlocked the
manacles—he wearing a Ranger’s badge,
—appeared at the moment mild-manner-
ed, and showed an easy smile. The other
man’s face was tougher and, scowling,
he looked almost savage. There was no
difficulty in telling which was lawman
and which was outlaw.
The Attorney General, a heavy, florid
man, said, marveling, “Yes, it might work.
If Hatfield is willing to run the risks, he
may have a chance of pulling it off.”
The big man who had removed the
handcuffs looked at him curiously, a
question in his gray-green eyes.
Captain McDowell asked, “Did he give
_ you any trouble, Jim?”
Hatfield shraveed. “Not saaidi to men-
tion.”
The prisoner swore. “If I’d had any
warning, Jim Hatfield would be buzzard
bait by now. But the damned Lone Wolf
Injuned up on me and—”
PS On oe
~need to tell us.’
McDowell cut in, “All a Tall Tom.
We know you Te é bad Sombre. You don’t
’ His youthful eyes were
amused. “We’ve been reading all about
you in the newspapers. Have you seen
the papers, Dolan? Right now you’re the
most notorious outlaw in the entire
United States.” :
Tall Tom Dolan cursed him.
C DOWELL, seeing the questioning
look in Jim Hatfield’s eyes, said,
“Jim, step off and take a good look at
Tall Tom.”
Hatfield obeyed, looking at the prisoner
from a distance of perhaps six feet.
“What do you see?” McDowell asked.
Hatfield smiled. “He could be a relative
of mine, heaven forbid.”
His chief nodded, then rose and gestur-
ed to the two Rangers by the doorway.
They stepped forward, each taking Dolan
by the arm. The outlaw went berserk.
With a shouted oath, he began a savage
struggling against the two, and for a mo-
ment it seemed that they would not -be ©
able to subdue him. There was great
strength in Dolan, a | part of it sheer wild-
ness..
The Attorney General looked .alarmed,
but Captain Bill McDowell merely smiled.
He had the utmost faith in the ability of —
his Rangers to handle even such a power-
ful brute as Tall Tom Dolan. |
Jim Hatfield watched with something
like admiration for the outlaw. Badman
Dolan might be, but Hatfield knew that
there were aihiy few men who could
put up a fight against two Rangers—and
Hatfield whom the old Ranger chief long
ago had dubbed the Lone Wolf, couldn’t
help respecting any man who was that
games |
They finally bested Dolan, and man-
acled his hands. By then both Rangers
were out of breath, and looking a bit
sheepish. Tall Tom Dolan was hardly
winded.
McDowell said, “You’ve got your or-
ders, boys. Take him to that secret place
and keep him guarded night and day. No-
body’s to come within a hundred feet of
ee
‘TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH 13
the building, and—I don’t need to remind
you—you re sworn to secrecy. Nobody is
to know that Dolan has been recaptured.
All right. Take him away.”
No man to waste time or to beat about
the bush, the chief of the Texas Rangers
turned to the Lone Wolf. McDowell was
grim, though it had often been said of him
that he would charge hell with a bucket
of water.
“That’s right, Jim,” he said. “Tall Tom
Dolan looks enough Hike you to be a close
relation, even a brother. The resemblance
-ain’t enough to fool anybody who knows
JIM HATFIELD —
Dolan into believing you are ‘Tom’, but
—well, I’m going to ask you to pretend
you're him. That’s why I had you bring
him in-at this hour of night—secretly.
Now—”’
“One moment, Captain,’ the Attorney
General interrupted. “I think you should
give Ranger Hatfield an opportunity to
refuse this mission. I made it clear that
this is no ordinary case, and that he should
be sent only if he volunteers. The danger
is great. It may mean certain death. At
best, it’s a gamble against odds.”
~ McDowell chuckled.
Lone Wolf,” he said, “I’d gamble a month’s
“Knowing the
@
pay he’s already volunteered. What you
say, Jim?”’
“You know you can always count on
me, Cap’n Bill.”
The Attorney General shook his head,
as though unable to imagine that any man,
even a Ranger, would volunteer for a
mission which was too risky to order a
man upon ‘iit. He said, “Very well. As Mc-
Dowell. says, Hatfield, we want you to
pose as Tall Tom Dolan.”
~Hatfield nodded. He was somewhat sur-
prised. Dolan had been picked up by some
Rangers merely because of his reputa-
tion, and because he was wanted by the
law in Wyoming, Montana, Utah, Colora-
do, and perhaps elsewhere. He had been
taken into custody on his first day in Tex-
as, and before he could commit any crime
in the Lone Star State.
A great hullabaloo had arisen over the
man’s arrest, due to‘his being one of Butch
Cassidy’s Wild Bunch, a member of the
notorious Hoie-in-the-Wall gang. The ex-
citement had been caused by the fact that
Dolan had never before been arrested.
The excitement had spread beyond Tex-
as. Every newspaper in the country had
heralded the outlaw’s capture.
Anid then Tall Tom Dolan had escaped,
only to be recaptured by the Lone Wolf.
Jim Hatfield began to suspect, from
what was being said in this office now,
that the escape had been engineered, with
the outlaw’s knowledge, by Captain Mc-_
Dowell and the Attorney General—for
good reason. He couldn’t guess at that
reason, since Dolan had not been active
in Texas.
Pi‘HE Attorney General
= “Your getting away with such an im-
posture depends upon your not running
into anyone who knows the man. And
your chances are good. Dolan came to
Texas because of a girl he knew in Wy-
- oming. She is now working in a dance-hall
at Fort Worth. So you won’t run into her.
Dolan was born here, but he left the state
when he was seventeen and he’s changed
considerably. And he has no relatives
here.” He glanced at McDowell. “Want
continued,
a = TEXAS: RANGERS
‘to take it from there, Bill?” |
McDowell viotlded. and. said crisply,
“Your danger first off, Jim, will be from
Texas lawmien—Raigers. drecifts: depu-
ties, marshals. When you leave here, to-
night, you'll be an outdaw on the dodge.
_ We'll raise a hue and cry. And you'll have
to elude pursuit and keep out of traps.
You'll have to leave a trail though, some-
how, so’s word spreads that youre still
in Texas.”
Hatfield smiled. ‘““You mean that I’m to
let a lawman or two catch sight of me—
as Dolan?”
pi ght. ”
“Which way am I e head?”
“Into the Big Bend.”
Hatfield said, “Outlaw country.”
“That’s it,’ McDowell told him. “And
S all this soerainie) is so’s the Big Bend out-
laws will believe you’re Tall Tom Dolan.
While. you head in that direction, word
will spread ahead of you. Them palinas
have their own grapevine and they’ll find:
out you're on your way.”
“And once I’m accepted as Dolan?”
“Tf,” said the Attorney General. “If you
are accepted.”
Hatfield glanced at him. “Excuse me,
sir, but I don’t like to consider the possi-
bility of failure. In this case, failure will
mean—well, my death.”
“Sorry. Go on, Bill.”
McDowell went on, “Once you're ac-
cepted, you’re to try to join up with a
wild bunch headed by a man named
Shayne. A _ soldier of fortune, Major
Bucky Shayne. Find out where the
Shayne crowd’s hide-out is, and any other
information you can get. You'll have one
contact ‘in Big Bend—Ben Tyson, a store-
keeper at a town called Muleshoe. ves
relay information to me.’
“T’m to trust Tyson ceucaleteig?"
“Yeah, and nobody else.’ McDowell
said. “Ben Tyson’s been a listening post,
so to speak, for the Rangers for several
years. When we get your information
from him, a company of Rangers’ll move
in and take Shayne’s hide-out. “And—
his voice turned harsh— “we've, got to
round up = whole gang, Jim
He began pacing the floor, one of the
few times Hatfield nad ever seen him
really upset.
He said, “Ranger prestige is at dake:
Jim. We've tried to trap Shayne and wipe
out his bunch a half-dozen times, but be-
cause of that grapevine I mentioned, he’s
always managed to get away. And what
could we do, not knowing the location of
his hide-out. His bunch not only work
Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, some-
times, but they also raid down in Mexico.
“Shayne, being a soldier of fortune,
like I said, knows people in most Latin-
American countries. He’s in cahoots: now
with a Mexican bandido named Ramon
Merardo. You’ve heard of Merardo, I
reckon. Claims he’s a revoluntionist. But
all Mexican bandits say they’re revolu-
tionists. Merardo was a colonel in the
Mexican Army once. Now he calls himself
General Merardo, and says his bandits are
soldiers. Says he leading an army of lib-
eration. And he’s got Chihuahua and
Coahuila in a turmoil. He’s wiped out
Federal troops in a dozen battles, and even
the Rurales can’t handle him. Merardo
———
“A question, Captain,’ Hatfield inter-
rupted. :
McDowell stopped pacing. “Yes?”
“How do you mean Shayne is in Ca-
hoots with Merardo?”
“He’s furnishing Merardo with supplies
—guns, ammunition, horseshoes, provi-
sions—for his fool ‘army’, that’s how.”
“And for that Merardo lets Shayne raid
across the Rio Grande?”
“That’s it. This here ‘liberator’ lets a
bandit from another country prey on his
own people.” Disgust was in McDowell’s
voice. “Like I said, the Rurales haven’t
been able to~handle Merardo. That’s got
under their hide. And so, to get rid of
the itch, they’re making a big fuss about
the Shayne gang.” An expert at express-
ing his explosive feelings, McDowell
swore feelingly “And that’s why Ranger
prestige is at stake, Jim. The head of the
Mexican Rurales has sent me a message.
It’s a plumb ultimatum, in fact. He’s
warned that if the Rangers don’t wipe out
‘the Shayne gang, the Rurales’ll cross the
Rio Grande into the Big Bend country,
and do it themselves!”
ATFIELD’S bronzed face hardened.
“Captain,” he drawled, “it seems to
me that Tall Tom Dolan had better get
started for the Big Bend, pronto.” —
~~ Both McDowell and the Attorney Gen-
eral nodded. 3 .
The Ranger chief said, “There ain’t no
time to lose. If the Rurales should cross
into Texas, itll cause international trou-
ble. But itll sure give the Texas Rangers
a black eye if they should wipe out the
Shayne crowd. Texans couldn’t live it
down.”
“Tl get going,” said Hatfield.
“One moment, Jim,” McDowell said.
“You're to get in touch with Ben Tyson
enly when you’ve got some information
to send. First off. you'll head straight to
a ranch in the Big Bend called the X Bar
X—Folks call it the Doubletross Ranch.
We got reason to suspect that the supplies
Bucky Shayne furnishes to Merardo reach
him through X Bar X Ranch.” He naused,
seeing a change of expression on the Lone
Wolf's face. “You’ve heard about the X
Bar x?
Hatfield nodded.
sir.”
“Yeah, that’s true enough,” McDowell
said. “And it’s not the best place in the
world to send a Ranger, even though it’s
owned by a woman—and a beautiful wom-
an, at that. But if Shayne is getting sup-
plies through the X Bar X Ranch, there’s
the logical place for you to get a line on
the Big Bend outlaws in a hurry.”
Hatfield nodded. “Is there anything
more, Cap’n Bill?”
me So es McDowell said.
you = Jim.’
They shook hands, and the Attorney
General rose and came from ‘behind his
desk to offer his hand to the Lone Wolf.
Hatfield turned to the door, paused
there to smile wryly'at the two men. And
to say, “Well, here goes Tall Tom Dolan.”
He went on then, out of the Capitol
building into the rainy darkness, think-
Peery Ranger has,
“Except. to wish
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH © —(sssi—‘“i‘<‘iSH CCS
ing that now he would incan what it was = :
like to be on the wrong side of the law.
And thinking, too, of what lay ahead,
especially of the X Bar X Ranch and af
the woman who owned it. Yes, he’d heard
of her. Lanya Forbes. A widew. A beau-—
tiful woman, they said. And she hated.
Rangers with a hatred that was an ob-
session. Her rustler husband had been
killed by Rangers.
Down in the vast, wild, lonely country ~
that was the Big Bend, she was known as
the Desert Witch.
cena ee a Se
CHAPTER II
The Widow Forbes
of the sluggish Rio Grande, nine thou-
sand square miles of forbidding desert
and craggy mountains. Its population ran
to one person for every twénty square
if es country nestled in the embrace
-miles, by census. The outlaws there were
uncounted.
Jim Hatfield had ridden this Big Bend
- country some years before, tracking down
The land had not changed
a murderer.
since. In fact, it had not changed greatly _
from prehistoric times, Hatfield reflected.
Five nights lay between him and his
midnight conference with the Attorney
General and Captain McDowell—five hec-
tic nights, with the days even wilder. The
net that had been spread for Tall Tom
Dolan enveloped most of Texas. Every
lawman had been alerted, and most ordi-
nary citizens were watchful, eager for the
“slory” of recapturing or killing the out-
law. The Lone Wolf, playing his réle to
the hilt, had had a dozen narrow escapes
as he traveled toward the Big Bend.
Four Rangers, coached in their réle as
he had been in his, had kept on his trail.
They’d made a great show of attempting to
-run him down, without really crowding
him. And upon reaching a ranch, settle-. ~
_ment or town, they’ d deliberately revealed
They :
that they were on Dolan’s trail.
-
“16
<
:
:
would “lose” his trail now that he was
into the Big Bend,
Hatfield had ridden a zigzag trail, in
the fashion of a man on the dodge. He
had deliberately let himself be seen, and
_had acted furtively. At sight of riders, he
had suddenly been in a great hurry. He
had circled around numerous ranch head-
quarters, but always letting himself be
‘seen. He had ridden through towns and
settlements, hand to gun, and pretending
nervousness. Men had tried to stop him.
Riders had pursued him. Shots had been
fired at him. Time and again he had es-
caped only because his great golden sorrel,
Goldie, was faster than the mounts of the
men = on taking him. |
He went unshaven and Gicecher and
had taken on the hardened look of a man
in flight. Hunger put hollows in his cheeks
- and, he imagined, gave him a wolfish look.
He ate just enough to keep his strength
up, and obtained grub by seeking an oc-
easional hand-out at some lonely ranch
where it wasn’t likely that word of his
presence in the neighborhood would be
known.
At some ranches, it had been known,
_ and he’d had to ride on fast, still hungry.
On one occasion he’d obtained food at
gun-point. On another, at a Mexican vil-
lage, he’d gone into the only store and or-
dered a few provisions, then carried them
from the place without paying. The store-
keeper had raised a great fuss in the plaza.
The provisions, in a flour-sack, the Lone
Wolf had tied to his saddle-horn. He’d
swung to the saddle, lifted Goldie to a
hard run as the merchant’s wild yelling
had brought the pags from their
*dobes.
Yes, he had traveled a ioe zig-
zag trail. But it had always carried him
toward the Big Bend. And now, on this
sixth: ‘day, he was deep into the country.
He followed a road south; a trace more
than a road, since there were few wagons
traveling in and out of the Big-Bend. It
Jed to Muleshoe, where Ben Tyson’s store
was located, anid it passed the X Bar X
Ranch. It led: him through the wildest sort
of country: sometimes there were cactus-
‘TEXAS RANGERS
studded flats, cornet mesquite- grown
thickets so fanpled that a rider would have.
difficulty finding a way through them if
he left the road; sometimes stretches. of
grotesquely eroded terrain cut by deep
gullies and with craggy bluffs.
It was now mid-afternoon, and he had
traveled most of last night, except for a _
few hours sleep, then on again at gray
dawn, aiming at a range of bare -hills.
He had seen no riders on the road nor
off from it, but now, nearly to the hills, he.
glimpsed an hei cow in the brush
or out across some bunchgrass flat, so -
knew he must be approaching a ranch. He
came to a fork in the road abruptly. One
branch turned southwest while the other
aimed southeast toward a V-shaped notch
in the hills. He took the one to the south-
east. :
He was within perhaps a quarter of a
mile of the cut when he was taken by sur-
prise by three riders who rushed at him
from a mesquite thicket—vaqueros on
half-tamed mustangs. They covered him
with guns. Two were young men, one old
and gaunt and gray.
The old man said, “Where you go, hom-
bre?”
ATFIELD looked at their grim faces,
their hostile eyes, their threatening
guns. They’d given him a start, but now
he realized that if they were bent on kill-
ing him, they would have done so from
ambush: This was a time to play his out-
law réle the very best he could. He
scowled at them as Tall Tom Dolan would
have done.
“What business is it of yours?” he
growled. “Answer me that.”
The aged vaquero did*not look less hos-
tile but, in the way of his race, he was
polite. “Tt is my business, senor, because
you are riding X Bar X range, a I, Her-
nandez Gonzales, am mayordomo of the
a» Bar-X.”’
“What is this X Bar X? A cross- -dog
outfit?” —
“Como?” =
“A man can’t cross X Bar X range?”
“Strangers are not wanted, sefior.”
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH . 2 Nv
“IT follow the road to Muleshoe,” Hat-
field said. Then, with a Dolan-like oath,
“T aim to keep on following it!”
Gonzales holstered his gun, but the oth-
er two kept Hatfield covered. The three
of them talked it over in Spanish. They
took it for granted that he did not under-
stand the language, it seemed, but Hatfield
spoke it well. One of the young men was
of a mind that they should turn the gringo
_ back the way he had come. Somebody—
a man called Robusto—would. not like it
if the stranger were permitted to ride on
to X Bar X headquarters, The name
“Dolan” fell from the excited lips of the
other young vaquero, and he said that it
would not be right to send the stranger,
if he were the outlaw, back into the arms
of the men hunting ie So Hatfield knew
. that word of his coming into the Big Bend
had indeed traveled ahead of him.
- Old Hernandez Gonzales had a straggly
gray mustache, and he_ thoughtfully
tugged at it. Finally he said that the
sehora would not like it if they were the
- cause of the Rangers catching up with a
man, no matter how bad the man might
‘be. The sefora with her hatred of the
Rangers. Gonzales turned to Hatfield.
“We will take you to headquarters,” he
said. “Then if Robusto says you must go
back, you will go back. If he says that you
may go on across our. range—” He
shrugged. “Come, sefior. We ride.”
He swung in beside the Lone Wolf, and
the other two, still with drawn guns, fol-’
lowed. They jogged along the road toward
the notch in the hills.
Hatfield said, “This Robusto—who is
he?”
“He is head man at the x Bar X. El
jefe.”
-“T thought you were the mayordomo,
the ranch boss.”
A frown came to Gonzales’s leathery.
face. After a moment’s thought, he said,
“That is true. I am the ranch boss. But.
between me and Senora Forbes, who owns
the rancho, there is Robusto. It is one of
those things, senor, that cannot be ex-
plained. Ae
“He’s her man, eh?”
own eyes.
“VYes—and no.”
“Oh?” os
“She is never without him - Gonzales |
said. “But other than that Well, as I
said, there are things that cannot he ex-
plained. He is always with her, and he
dees no work around the ranch. But if
she has him for her man—” He shook
his head . “I have seen nothing with my
Still, he is a handsome man,
this Robusto, and the sefiora is a widow.
They fell silent. Between them and
the cut in the hills a dust whirlwind raced
across a flat, cavorted among some boul-
ders, whipped across the road. But here
in the Big Bend, Hatfield knew, they were
called desert witéhes.
And, he recalled, the Widow Forbes
was called the Desert Witch. He wondered |
why, and the prospect that he would soon
find out about her excited him. He had
his doubts that she would be as beautiful
as he had heard she was. It didn’t seem
possible that a beautiful woman would
be called a witch.
Still, aman was always hopeful. Beauty
wasn’t common.
VHE X Bar X Ranch headquarters was
located in a bow of the hills, and
when Jim Hatfield saw it, as he emerged
from the pass with the three vaqueros,
he stared in amazement. He had expected
the crudest sort of buildings here in the
back country, but the Forbes woman had
built well and handsomely.
, Her ranch house was low and sprawl-
ing, beneath a red-tile roof, and it had a
high-walled patio. Her outbuildings and
the little houses of the married vaqueros
had viga roofs instead of tile, but the
buildings were arranged in an orderly
fashion about the wide ranchvyard and
each had a well-kept look. The fences of
the corrals were in fine repair.
Along a shallow creek that twisted past
the place young cottonwoods grew, and
Hatfield knew that they had been hand:
planted. In a word, he decided, the: ? é: ree
X was a show place. FD ates
He remembered the story e Bes for-
bes. Her husband had owned a ranch on
ever ony bee WS,
the Llano, atid ‘the had been doing well.
He had met her in Fort Worth, when he
had trailed a herd there. She had been
visiting a sister, the wife of an Army of-
ficer. She’d been from somewhere in the
East. No doubt she had had plenty of
- suitors, but Sam Forbes had courted her
and won her in a week’s time.
She had journeyed to the Llano River
country, as his bride. But marriage hadn’t
reformed the man, a born gambler. A
high-stake gambler. In time, Forbes had
gambled himself deep into debt and to buy
back his IOU’s he had sold off too many
of his cattle and mortgaged his ranch.
Then, in the hope of recouping his losses,
he had turned to large-scale rustling—
with the inevitable result. But instead of
submitting to arrest, Forbes and his
rustler crew had put up a fight. Again
with the inevitable result.
Mrs. Forbes had refused to believe that
her husband was a rustler, and she fought
to clear her dead Inushend’s name and to
have the Rangers who killed him tried:as
murderers. She had managed to have
them brought to trial, but they had been
acquitted. The evidence had been strong
against"Sam Fogbes. She had appealed to
the Governor of Texas.
woman, Lanya Forbes. |
Failing to clear her husband’s name,
but still believing him innocent, she had
bitterly denounced the Texas Rangers in
front of.the Governor, the Attorney Gen-
eral, and Captain McDowell. She had said
She would move away from a range where
as she claimed, men wearing badges coaad
persecute and kill innocent people.
She had sold
“And here she had transformed her por-
tion of the. wilderness.
‘Hatfield ‘saw Mexican children and
women. about the cluster of adobe huts,
Se: oe
aie the ce nt in sight was a black-
. Psa and Hatfield amas oe
it — fo the man called Robusto.
A strong-willed |
= out. the Llano ranch,
and moved to the wild Big Bend.
18 | ‘TEXAS RANGERS"
Then, as he and his escort reined in and
dismounted, the Ranger saw that the
animal was not in the X BAR X iron
but was wearing a CS Connected brand.
Gonzales told the two vaqueros te re-
main by the gate, and gestured for Hat-
field’ to follow him. Entering the patio,
the Lone Wolf found it a pleasant spot.
A flagstone walk ran through well-tended
flower beds. There was a roofed well
shaded by a sizable cottonwood tree.
Along the adobe house was a long gallery,
and three people—two men and a woman
—stood upon it. They were in a violent
argument. Or rather, the woman and
one of the men were arguing. The other
‘man was amused, grinning.
Old Hernandez Gonzales halted short
of the gallery, stood with sombrero in
hand, waiting to be noticed. Hatfield
halted beside him and took out mak-
ings, studying the people on the gallery
as he built a cigarette.
The woman was a beauty. Tall, shapely,
proud of bearing, auburn-haired. The
descriptions of her had not been ex- -
aggerated. On the contrary!
Angry though she was, her voice was
low and perfectly controlled. Only its
tone revealed her loss of temper, as she
said, “Robusto, take Mr. Styles out to his
he and see that he rides off X Bar X
range—and stays off
TYLES interested Jim Hatfield. He
was dressed like a townsman rather
than a back- -country man. In this country,
rough and serviceable clothing was called
for, but Styles wore a white shirt, a ma-
roon string tie, a fine suit of gray broad-
cloth, and military-type boots. Only his
broad-brimmed stetson fitted here. He
was a man of about fifty, gray at the
temples, and with a neat gray mustache.
He was of medium height, slightly built,
sallow of complexion. He reminded Hat-
field of a tradesman, a banker, a pro-
fessional man—anything but a vides: of
the wild Big Bend.
But there was an ugly look in his eyes,
a certain viciousness to his voice. He
said, “I warn you, Mrs. Forbes! I bought
“So you, handsome, are Tall to Dolan,”
and paid for that strip of range and—”
“Robusto,” the woman said.
The man she called Robusto laughed
and stepped forward. He took Styles by
the arm, and said, “You heard the lady,
hombre. Let’s go!”
Styles tried to wrench loose, but Ro-
busto’s grip was viselike. He turned the
~dudish man about, escorted him down
from the gallery as though he were a
small boy. His hold caused Style’s face to
stiffen with pain.
Robusto was well-named, Hatfield re-
flected. He was well over six feet tall, a
bit taller than the Lone Wolf, and heavily
built. Robust. He was about twenty-seven
or -eight, huge for a Mexican, for the
men of that race usually afe not large
of stature. But now, as Robusto and
o
she said
Styles passed him, Hatfield saw that the
burly, handsome man was only part Mex-
ican. His eyes were a surprising china
blue. And bright with a look of deviltry.
As the two men passed through the
patio gate, the woman looked at Jim Hat-
field. Her eyes were as green as the at-—
tractive dress she wore.
“Hernandez, who is this?”
“We found him riding X Bar x range, :
senora.’
“Oh? And why have you brought him
here?”
‘“Senora—” Gousales Ss manner was al-
most servile, as he held his sombrero to
his chest, his head slightly bowed— “Ro-
busto gave me orders that ‘no strangers
19
are to be permitted to cross X Bar x
range.”
S
gers.
20 | _ "TEXAS RANGERS
“Indeed? But that doesn’t explain why
you've brought this man here.”
“IT thought you would not want him
turned back, sefora. Because of the Ran-
He is running from them, and—”
Lanya Forbes gave Hatfield another
look. “You’re Tall Tom Dolan?”
Hatfield took a long drag on his ciga-
rette. He was quite certain that the
genuine Tall Tom Dolan would not ad-
mit his identity to a stranger. So he said,
“Smith is the name. Just plain Smith,
ma’am.” —
The lovely green eyes were still angry.
“Don’t lie to me!” she snapped. “You’re -
Dolan, the outlaw.”
Robusto returned from sending Styles
away. | |
Lanya Forbes said, “Bring this man in-
side.” And to Gonzales, “You may go.”
She turned into the house.
Robusto looked Hatfield over. ‘Tall
Tom Dolan, eh?” he said. “We had word
you were headed in this direction.” He
still grinned, as though grinning were
habitual with him, but his blue eyes were
wary as they sized up Hatfield. “Inside,
hombre. You heard the lady.”
Hatfield gazed at him for a moment,
rubbed the wrong way by the man’s arro-
gant manner. It would be easy to have
trouble with Robusto. He decided that
too much was at stake to risk it by picking
a quarrel with him, however, so turned
into ‘the house. Biokaicic ioe.
The room they entered was an office, a
comfortably furnished office. There was
a huge fireplace at one side of the room,
book-filled shelves at the other. There
was thick carpet underfoot, and besides
the desk, at which the Forbes woman
had seated herself, there were armchairs
and a large sofa. An inviting room, and
not too feminine. A man could have en-
joyed his leisure hours there.
Lanya Forbes said, “Our visitor claims
his name is Smith, Robusto.”
ART
‘T think it is something else.”
Robusto was evidently a frequent visi-.
tor to this room. He went to the desk and
perched with one oe upon the edge of it.
=
=
He kept eying Hatfield, ee wnhing
faintly. He said, “I think his name could
be Dolan.”
“He was crossing our range,” the woman
said. “I’d like to know why. And I don’t
like anybody to lie to me.” ‘She paused,
looking from one man to the other. Then,
- “Robusto, do you think you can make this
smart aleck admit that his name is not
Smith?”
“Si, senora,’ said Robusto. “No man
lies to Esteban Maldonado y O’Reilly!”
He came away apes the desk, came at
Hatfield. 3 3
His grin broadened, and a wicked gleam
danced in his eyes. Here was a man, the
Lone Wolf realized, as he braced himself,
who loved a fight. |
CHAPTER Iil
An Enticing Proposition
OBUSTO wore a gun, its holster tied
down in the fashion of quick-draw
artists, and there was the hilt of a knife
protruding from his right boot. But at
the moment, he seemed to think his fists
were weapons enough. From the first
moment, however, the Lone Wolf thought
otherwise. |
Robusto might be big and powerful, and
capable of handling most men. But he
was also a fool, for he closed in fast with-
out protecting himself. He was wide open
as he launched a blow at Hatfield’s face.
The Ranger dodged the punch, and
jabbed at Robusto’s left ribs. He con-
nected twice, and heard the man grunt
with shock. He shifted his attack to the
man’s face, rapping: him smartly across
the nose with his knuckles. His blows
were intended to sting: He wanted to
hurt his man, infuriate him. And he
succeeded. Robusto yelled an oath, flung
himself forward, tried to catch Hatfield
in'a bear “hug. Backing, the Ranger
stepped to avoid the man’s arms, and.
jabbed twice more to the face.
~*~
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH 2 21
Robusto halted flat- footed, stared in
surprise. Hatfield glanced beyond him, at
the woman seated at the desk. Her face
was expressionless, but there was a lively
excitement in her eyes.
She said coolly, “Well, are you going
to let him get away with that, Robusto?”
Hatfield thought he knew now why ee
was called the Desert Witch.
Robusto, stung by her mocking tone,
drove at Hatfield with a shout of rage.
He was still clumsy, but this time he
managed to duck a punch thrown at him
and to take Hatfield about the middle
with an embrace that he quickly tight-
ened. He slammed his head against the
Lone Wolf’s chest, knocking off his hat,
‘then moved his head down below Hat-
field’s breastbone and applied pressure.
For a moment Hatfield feared that the
man had him, the pain was so intense.
He tried to pry Robusto’s arms loose, but
they kept tightening, and the man’s head
continued to exert pressure. Desperate,
Hatfield grabbed him by the hair and suc-
ceeded in pulling his head back. ‘With
his left hand he clubbed a blow to Ro-
busto’s ear. The man grunted with pain,
loosened his hold; but drove a knee to the
Lone Wolf’s groin as he moved away.
Agony bent Hatfield double, and Ro-
busto, with a gleeful yell, closed in and
drove a blow to the back of*his opponent’s
head. Hatfield’.went to his knees, but
flung his arms about Robusto’s legs. He
heaved upward and threw the man over
backward. Robusto landed on his head
and shoulders with a great thump. Hat-
field waited; smiling thinly.
“Come on, Robusto,” he taunted. “You |
can do better than all that for the lady!”
Robusto lay there for a long moment,
his grin gone and his eyes bright with
hatred. Then he came to his left hand
- and his knees, and his right hand closed
on the hilt of the knife in his boot.
The woman said sharply, “No, Ro-
busto!”’
He hesitated, viewing at her.
‘Hatfield said, “Let him Bo. Til take
- that knife and—”
The man sprang at him, the long- bladed
knife raised for a downward thrust. It
wasn’t the way to use a knife in combat.
The blade should have been held outward
from the forward part of the hand, for an
upward thrust that it was impossible to
parry. Hatfield had time enough to close
in under the lifted arm, and to grab the
wrist. He not only kept the blow from
falling, but slammed his right fist to
Robusto’s jaw.
This time it was no light jab, but a
punch with all the Lone Wolf’s weight
behind it. Robusto staggered. His knees
buckled. Hatfield released his wrist, let
him collapse to the floor, and kicked the
knife from the dazed man’s hand. After a
moment, Robusto picked himself. up by
using a chair as a prop. He stood sway-
ing. He was ——- from the corner of
his mouth.
Lanya Forbes rose and came from be-
hind the desk, looked at him with some- -
thing like disgust. “And you’re forever
bragging you're tough,” she said. “Pick
up your knife and leave me alone with
this man. I can handle him, if you can’t.”
Surprisingly, Robusto obeyed. He was
accustomed to taking her orders.
When he reached the door, she said,
“And don’t lay for him when he leaves.
: You understand?”
E HALF-TURNED, stared at her
with his face working. He glanced at
Hatfield ,jthen back at her. “Si,” he said.
“I understand. You think he will fill my
place.” He paused, then added, * ‘Senora,
do not make an enemy of me.’
And he went out.
She was silent a moment, thougktiulie
Then, with a shrug that ssemed to dismiss
the man from her thoughts, she said, “All
right. You’ve won the right to call your-
self Smith or anything else you like.”
He smiled. “Call me Dolan, if you like.”
She nodded. “You’re quite a man. Tall
Tom Dolan. As much a man as I heard.
It’s too bad you’re an outlaw. You can’t
be trusted. Still, I’ve a notion to take a
chance on- you. Do you want a job,
Dolan?” =
“Filling Robusto’s boots?”
TEXAS RANGERS
“Not exactly. He’s still a good man,
even though he couldn’t whip you. I
haven’t decided to get rid of him. It could
be that I have use for you both.”
“It'd end up with him killing me, or
me killing him.”
“No. I can hold him in check.”
“Just what is he around here?”
She met his gaze steadily, but a flush
stained her checks. “He’s my bodyguard,”
she said. “I’m a widow. A woman with-
out a man in this country— Well, I
wouldn’t have any security at all if it
weren't for Robusto, or another man like
him. He’s that and nothing more. You'll
have to take my word for it. But—” she
gave another small shrug— “it doesn’t
matter to me whether you believe it or
not. Do you want to go on my pay-roll?”
“Maybe you want me to take care of |
the other man who just left here?”
“Carter Styles? Well, maybe I do.”
- “And some others?”
“It’s possible.”
Hatfield considered a moment. He’d had
erders to come to the X Bar X Ranch on
the chance that here he could learn some-
thing of the Shayne outlaw crowd. But it
seemed that if he hired on, he would be
involved in this woman’s affairs to such
an extent that he might miss out on that
chance. And there was too little time in
which to obtain the information Captain
McDowell needed so urgently. |
Still undecided, he said, “Give me a
-~ little time to think it over.”
“Why?” she said. “Have you something
else to do?”
“I figured I’d drift deeper into the Big
Bend.”
“The Rangers won’t come here for
you,” she said. And her hatred of the
Texas Rangers made her voice ugly. “But
think it over. Stay overnight. Give me
‘ your answer in the morning. You can
sleep in the bunkhouse, get supper and
breakfast at the cookshack.” Then, after
a moment of sizing him up, “You may
go, Dolan.”
= He lanohed then went to the door-
way. And said from there, “You're quite
a woman. Mrs. Forhes. Tve never own
s.
Fe 2
cre
oes ol
one quite like you.” .
A slight smile touched her lips. “And
you'll never know another quite. like
me,’ she said. “My character has been
shaped and tempered by trouble. I have
what few women possess, a will of my
own. I’m making my way in a man’s
world, and I have to be hard and smart,
or I’d be crushed. I’m self-sufficient. I’ve
offered-you a job, but that doesn’t mean
I can’t get along without you: If you de-
cide to take it, don’t get any notion that
you'll be indispensible.”
He waited, sensing that she wasn’t fin-
ished. 7 .
She wasn’t. “As I said, it’s too bad you're
an outlaw—as well as quite a man. As
an honest man, you might have made
yourself endiepencite”
“A man can reform—with a woman’s
help.”
“Tll need proof of that.”
“Maybe T’ll be able to furnish it, if I
take the job.”
Her eyes challenged him. “We’ll see,”
she said.
He nodded, and went out.
HE RANGER took his horse to the
corrals, off-saddled, then carried his
bedroll to the big adobe bunkhouse. The
point of a knife pricked his back the mo--
ment he entered the building, and the
door slammed shut. He tensed.
“Robusto?”
“That’s right, hombre. You feel this
knife?”
“T feel it.” 7
“A little more pressure, my friend, and
you would be a dead one,” said Robusto
O’Reilly.. The knife jabbed, causing Hat-
field to wince. Then the pressure was
eased. “So I let you live. In a way, a
now owe me your life.”
Hatfield did not move a muscle. He
stood frozen, his bedroll on his left shoul-
der. “You have a queer kind of logic, you
Irish-Mexican,” he said. “Why didn’t you
knife me when I walked in?” -
“The sefora is taken by you. If I kill
you, she will hate me.” -
“And besides. vou want something of
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH 23
me, now that I owe you my life?”
“Si. You are not to take the job she
offered you.”
“So you listened at the door, eh?”
“I make the sefora’s affairs my affairs,”
Robusto said. “I am a jealous man, Senor
Dolan. If you stay here, I will lose out
with the senora. Then I would surely kill
you. She would hate me, and it would take
me a long time to get her over hating me.
I speak logic, no?” |
“You speak logic, yes.”
“And you will be sensible?”
Hatfield felt the prick of the knife again.
“T’ll be sensible,” he said, and shoved his
bedroll back off his shoulder into Ro-
busto’s face. -
A Spanish oath fell from the man’s lips
and Hatfield, leaping away, whirled and
grabbed out one of his twin Colts. Robusto
backed against the door. the knife now
a useless thing in his hand.
Hatfield smiled. ‘Put that knife back in
your boot, amigo,” he said. “I'll holster
my gun. We'll talk things over in friendly
fashion.”
Robusto was a bit crestfallen as he
bent and slid thé knife into his boot. Then
straightening, “We'll talk it over?”
“Yall Tom Dolan is no man to tie him-
~ self to a job,” Hatfield said. “The law is
too close behind me. Your Sefiora Forbes
said that the Rangers won’t come here.
Me, I’m not so sure. I’m heading deeper
into the wild country, first thing in the
morning, and I aim to tell the lady so. ©
If I travel far enough, maybe I'll find some
of my own kind of hombres here in the
Bend.”
A look of relief spread over Robusto’s
face. “Maybe I can help you find your
own kind,” he said. ‘““There are many out-
laws in the Big Bend, but a man must
know how to find them.”’
“You can help me find them?”
“T will send a couple vaqueros with
you as guides,’ Robusto said. His grin
returned. “We are friends now, no?”
Hatfield grinned back. “We are friends
now, yes,” he said.
But he was not so sure. ...
The ranch hands came in at sundown,
all of them Mexicans. Seven of them ate
in the cookshack and slept in the bunk-
house. The others were family men, and
they, after putting up their mounts, went
to their ’dobes to spend the night with
their wives and children. Hatfield ate with
the bachelors, then went to the bunkhouse ©
and turned in. He needed a good night’s
sleep, having missed so much rest while
making his danger-filled way to the Big
Bend country.
He felt safe enough here at the X Bar X,
now that Robusto was convinced that he
would not be a rival for the Forbes wom-
an’s favors. He didn’t trust the man, but
he felt certain that Robusto would make
no attempt on his life, because of his fear
that the woman would be angered.
Lying on his bunk, smoking a final
cigarette, the Lone Wolf found himself
thinking of Lanya Forbes. A beautiful
woman. The most beautiful he had ever
met. But she was dangerous. To win her
“way, she would pit man against man and
make use of the stronger. The death of
her husband had hardened her, and such
hardness was not a good thing in a woman.
TILL, without it, she would be lost.
¥ Without being hard, she could never
have founded this ranch, nor have held
onto it. Such an outfit here in this wild
country must be the envy of many men—
men like Carter Styles for example. And
no doubt she must forever be on her guard
against them.
_ She had plenty of vaqueros to Saaed
her range, but a determined man, with |
plenty of gunhands in his hire, might be
able to handle the X Bar X riders. She
was aware of that, and so she had Robusto
to guard her personally.
Hatfield hadn’t found the Irish-Mexican
difficult to handle, but it was likely that
Robusto O’Reilly was more than a match
for ordinary tough hands. At any rate, he
had kept the woman safe so far, and he
wanted no help from a man whe might
give him competition for Lanya Forbes’s
affections. It was only she who felt a need
to have another man like Robusto akout
the ranch, -
Pr Ae ys .¢
ote »
ms
4 uly
24 - TEXAS RANGERS
But it was possible, Hatfield reflected,
that she hadn’t really felt the need of a
second bodyguard. It might be that she
was bored with Robusto O’Reilly, big and
handsome though he was, and had seen.
in tall Tom Dolan—in the man she thought
to be Dolan—something that aroused the
tender feelings that surely lay beneath
her hard exterior.
It occurred to Hatfield that it might be
pleasant to accept the job she offered,
even though it meant clashing with Ro-
busto. But it was not for him, not for the
Lone Wolf, He dared not let himself be
tempted.
On that thought, he crushed out his
cigarette and slept... .
After breakfast Hatfield was saddling
Goldie over by the corrals when Robusto
O’Reilly came from the ranch house. The
man said, “So you didn’t change your
mind. during the night, amigo?”
“No, I didn’t, amigo.”
They grinned at each other. Like a
couple of unfriendly lobo wolves, Hatfield
told himself. Then Robusto gestured to-
ward two vaqueros over by the barn.
“Juan and Miguel will take you to an
outlaw hide-out,’ he said. “I have told
them how to find it. Since they know the
country, they will have no trouble guid-
“ing you. But once you reach the place,
you will be on your own. Tell the jefe —
of the outlaw band that Robusto sent you. |
Maybe that will help.”
- “What’s his name, this outlaw eS
“Major Bucky Shayrie.”
To cover his surprise, Hatfield said,
“Major? What’s this Shayne—an _ ex-
Army officer?” ;
Robusto shrugged. “You will find out
from him, I think,” he said. “You will see
the sefiora and tell her: that you are leav-
ing of your own free will? I would not
want her to think that I seared you away
from the X Bar X.”
Hatfield chuckled. “I'll tell her you
- didn’t scare me away.” =
_ He finished saddling his golden sorrel,
turned toward the big adobe house, lead-
ing Goldie. Robusto fell into step with
him. =
ne:
a2
“That’s a fine animal, Dolan.”
“T took it from a Ranger.”
“You would trade it, maybe?” —
“No,” said Hatfield. “I’ve grown kind of
fond of the bronc.”
Robusto turned off to talk to the two
men who were to act as guides. Hatfield
left Goldie ground-hitched by the patio
gate, and found Lanya Forbes at the door-
way to her office. He had an idea she was
waiting for him.
Her voice was accusing. “You're leav-
ing.”
“T'll feel safe only deeper in the Bend.”
“The Rangers won’t come here, I told
you. I have reason to hate them, — they
know it.”
“T doubt if hatred will eecn them away
from here,” Hatfield said. “Don’t count
on that. Tn sorry I can’t take the job. ]
reckon you know that.”
She stepped from the doorway, moved
close to him. “I think I can hold you here.
Dolan,” she said. Her voice was husky,
the look in her green eyes inviting. She
lay a hand on his arm. “Stay, Dolan.
You'll never regret it.”
He felt a quiver of excitement. He
imagined that the real Tall Tom Dolan
would give in to her, but he was not
Dolan. He had a mission to accomplish.
He took her hand from his arm. |
“Maybe I'll come back this way.”
Anger came quickly to her. “If you go
now, don’t come back,” she said. “Once
you leave, youd never be welcome here
again!” ee
He’ said, “I’m sorry,” and turned away.
He heard her say something, when he
- was halfway across the patio.
He had an idea that she called him an
ugly name.
i OBUSTO watched Hatfield and his
i guides ride out, his grin stretched
Wide on his face and a wicked gleam in
his blue eyes. One of ‘the vaqueros led
a spare horse under pack, which told Hat-
- field that they would be at least a couple
days on the trail. They headed south
across X Bar X range, and after a half-
dozen miles, Hatfield saw the buildings
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH
of another ranch a half-mile or more back
from the road.
« “Whose place is that?” he asked. “Car-
ia Styles’s?”
“Si,” one of his guides said.
Styles lives there.”
“He has a big outfit?”
“No, Sefor Dolan. His is what you call
it, a iw Sit ranch.”
“But he’s making rouble for Sefiora
Forbes. How come?”
-“He claims more range than is his,” the
vaquero said. “He bought his ranch from
a man who played him for a tenderfoot—
which Senor Styles is. For another thou-
sand dollars, this man told him, I will sell
you some good grassland I own on the
north side of Turbio Creek. Senor Styles
paid him the money and was given a quit-
claim for the second piece of range.” The
' vaquero chuckled. “The joke is, Senor
Dolan, the range north of the Turbio is
a part of the X Bar X Ranch.”
Hatfield smiled to show that he appreci-
ated the joke. Then he said, “But he still
thinks he owns that strip of- range, eh?
And wants’ to take it from Sefora
Forbes?”
pt. But he has much | to learn about the
senora.’
“She is not called — Desert Witch for
nothing,” the other vaquero said. “Senor
Styles will get nowhere by talking snes
to her.” =
“How come she’s called that?” Hatfield
asked.
The two Mexicans pechaies glances,
both looking blank. Then the one named
Juan, said, “It is perhaps because she is
possessed of a devil, senor. She is no ordi-
nary woman. Only a woman possessed
would come alone into this country and
start a ranch where sete was nothing be-
fore.”
They fell silent then, each of the =
lost in his own thoughts. The road turned
“Senor
a cluster of buildings ahead. It was the
settlement called Muleshoe, Hatfield
learned from his companions who now,
aroused from their silence, talked of get-
ting some tequila. Both had developed
25
great thirsts, it. seemed.
Hatfield was as anxious to stop at Mule-
shoe as they, but fér another reason. He
wanted an opportunity to size up his only
link with outside Texas—the storekeeper
named Ben Tyson.
CHAPTER IV
Guides to Death
ULESHOE, at a crossroads, consisted
of a dozen adobe buildings. All
were mere huts with the exception of one
bearing a crudely lettered sign that read:
Tyson’s Place
General Merchandise, Whisky” and
Tequila, Remedies
It was a large building with a wooden
awning along the front and two entrances,
one to the store and the other to. the
barroom.
A rickety wagon with a pair of crow-
bait horses in harness stood in front of —
the place, and a Mexican couple carrying
purchases and followed by a swarm of
barefoot kids came out to the wagon.
They were followed by a man—a gringo—
who carried still another swarthy young-
ster. This child had a freshly bandaged
leg. The American man held the boy un-
til the Mexican stowed his provisions
into the wagon, then gave him to the
man who was evidently the father of the
brood.
The Mexican said something in Span-
ish,
The American shook his head, Sing
and said, “There is no charge 2S the doc-
toring, Mario. And you tell your brother,
Diego, that if he wants legal advice, he’s
southeast finally, and at mid-day they saw je ene te Ee. Pll look into my law books,
and it’ll cost him nothing at all.”
“Gracias, Senor Tyson,” the Mexican
said. “Muchisimas gracias!” -
The two X Bar X vaqueros had already
dismounted by the hitch-rack in front of
pies
26 | TEXAS RANGERS
the barroom entrance, but Hatfield still
sat his horse and was watching the man
he realized was Ben Tyson with a lively
interest. Tyson came along the gallery, a
slightly built man of about thirty or a
little more: A clean-cut man, his rather
pale face unmarked by life in the harsh
land where he did business.
“Hola, amigos!” he called to the va-
queros. “How are things at the X Bar X
~ Ranch?”
The vaqueros greeted him with respect,
one even removing his sombrero. They
told him that things were all right at the
X Bar X.
“And how is Sefora Forbes?”
Hatfield noted that Tyson’s lips spoke
that name as though it were important
to him, as though he were fond of its
owner. Tyson nodded when one of the
X Bar X men told him that the sefiora
was well, and there was a flicker in his
eyes that was as telltale as his voice. Here
was another man who was under thé spell
of the Desert Witch. | 7
Tyson glanced at him. “Step down,
stranger. Come quench your thirst.”
The vaquero, Juan, said, “This is Sefor
Dolan. We take him south.”
“Not Tall Tom Dolan?”
“Maybe I’m not welcome at your bar,
friend,”
“T’ve welcomed men at my bar who had
worse reputations than yours, Tall Tom.”
Hatfield laughed, and swung from sad-
dle. He had seen Ben Tyson wink as he
spoke, and the wink told him that he
knew him to be not an outlaw but a
Ranger.
They went inside, and Tyson served
the vaqueros tequila and tapped whisky
from a keg for Hatfield and himself.
“You’re a doctor and a lawyer as well
as a merchant ahd a saloonman?” Hatfield
asked. ‘A sort of jack-of-all-trades?”’
“T’m many things to many men, Dolan.”
“You must be a busy man.”
“A busy man is never a lonely man,”
said Tyson. “Or so I’ve heard. Are you
figuring on staying around these parts?”
Hatfield shrugged. “My compadres are
taking me to some friends of Robusto
O’Reilly’s,” he said. “Juan—Miguel,
where is aee place you are taking me?”
- The vaqueros gave him blank looks,
and Juan said, “We do not know, sefior.
We must find it by the lsndraarks that
Robusto described. It is somewhere far |
south.”
Hatfield gave Tesce a wry smile, then
lifted his glass. “Your health, friend,”
he said.
Tyson gave him the same sort of smile.
“Yours,” he said, and lifted his glass.
It took the vaqueros nearly two hours
to quench their thirst, and then, starting
out, they took a jug of tequila along as
protection against another dry trail. Ben
Tyson watched the three of them ride
away, and he was still in his doorway
when Hatfield glanced back once they
were well away from Muleshoe... .
HEY were going to murder him!
Juan and Miguel had their orders,
from Robusto O’Reilly. With so much te-
quila in them, they began discussing
when and where and how to kill him.
They talked in Spanish, which they as-
sumed he could not understand.
Hatfield kept Miguel, who led the pack-
horse, between himself and Juan. And
when the trail narrowed, for there was no
longer a road, he dropped to the rear. He
intended to keep them at a disadvantage,
without them knowing that he was aware
of their plan of murder.
Both men were drunk, which undeii
edly was why they kept talking it over,
in their own tongue. The Ranger gathered
that they were a little afraid, too. The te-
quila hadn’t made them brave. They were —
not killers at heart, Juan and Miguel. It
was just that Robusto had given them
orders.
Hatfield smiled bleakly. Robusto talked
a little like a fool, but maybe that was
just because he couldn’t express himself
well in Americano. He was no fool, but a
decidedly dangerous man. The vaqueros
were to kill Tall Tom Dolan, Hatfield
heard them saying, but Sefora Forbes
was not to know. She was to think he
had joined Major Bucky Shayne’s out-
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH oa
law band. And so she would not be angry
with Robusto. :
The pair talked for miles, then became
broodingly silent, The tequila was wear-
ing off, and they worried. They avoided
looking directly at the man they thought
was Tall Tom Dolan. They gave him fur-
tive glances. It occurred to Hatfield that
if he were Dolan, they would be as good
A TALL Texas TALE
~with his back to a boulder, and kept his
gaze on the two while he ate.
After the meal, the two Mexicans
brought out their jug of tequila and kept
passing it back and forth, They kept the
fire going. Hatfield had a smoke, then
spread his bedroll beside the boulder. He
settled his saddle for a pillow, and took
his rifle into his blankets with him. He
TOBACCO SHOOTER
Za Ga } | Spee BILL pushed his hat back, shifted his cud of tobacco and
cleanly rang the spittoon beneath the brass rail at his feet. ““This
a= feller with the rodeo was the best I ever seen for straight shootin’,”
TE xAS
~ he said. “One thing he done was put up a card, a six-spot, and turned
around and walked back twenty paces, then spun on his heel and shot
the pips out of that card as fast as he could pull the trigger.”
Elmer Fuddle McWhinney, of the Dallas McWhinneys, took a swig
of his beer and looked unimpressed. “Is that all he done to make you
.. call him the best you ever seen?”
Brazos Bill shook his head and looked slantwise at the other. “(He had him a girl
helper in red tights—a real looker, though a mite on the skinny side—and she’d put
a cigarette in her mouth and puff it a bit to get up a good ash, and this feller would
then take careful aim and knock the-ash right off that cigarette slicker’n slobbers.”
“And her standing still all the while?”
“Why, shore she was standin’ still,” replied Brazos a bit bristly.
Elmer Fuddle McWhinney, of the Dallas McWhinneys, snorted. “That’s child’s
play compared to the shooting an uncle of m‘ne used to do. We called him Uncle
Deadeye. He was a McWhinney, of course. One of his favorite tricks with a cigarette
was to have someone toss it in the air for him to shoot at. The cigarette would fall
‘to the ground again and someone was sure to say, ‘Hah, you missed it!’ because
there it would lay looking good as ever. ‘Take a good look at that cigarette,’ Uncle
Deadeye would tell him. ‘Ain’t much good for smokin’ any more, less’n you like
just the pure paper.’ And sure enough, he would’ve shot the tobacco right out of it
while it was twisting through the air, the bullet going in one end and out the other
without even busting the paper. Had to use a .22 for that trick, of course, cigarettes
being thin as they are.” 3 =
“Yeh, of course,” echoed Brazos Bill doubtfully, as he tried to uncross his eyes.
“Any fool would know that.”
as dead men now, for those glances would
have warned the outlaw, even if he hadn’t
savvied Mexican lingo. And he would
certainly have killed them before they
got a chance to kill him. 3
The day was finally gone, and they halt-
_ed to make camp. Hatfield off-saddled
Goldie while Miguel took care of the
other horses and Juan gathered brush
for a cookfire. Juan did the cooking, and
when the grub was ready, the Lone Wolf
filled and carried his tin plate and cup
away from the fire. He hunkered down
did not dare sleep however. He lay there
listening to the vaqueros, and finally, as
they become drunk again, their talk again
was of Robusto’s orders to kill him.
They argued about it. They feared Ro-
busto; the man would be angry if they
returned without having carried out his
orders. But they also feared Senora
_ Forbes. She would be angry if they killed
the gringo. How would she know? Miguel
asked that. Juan had an answer. The
senora was a witch, and witches had ways © 7
of learning things. From the wind, maybe. _
28 | _ ‘TEXAS RANGERS
They talked and they drank and like
all their kind, they were superstitious.
They began telling fantastic ‘stories that
were often told by campfires in the brush
eountry—of eerie happenings, of ghosts,
and of course of witches. They frightened
themselves. Finally they spread their blan-
kets close’ to the fire, their orders to do
murder forgotten.
Hatfield slept by snatches, but there
- was no need for him to be on guard. Juan
and Miguel were in a drunken sleep. He
heard their loud snoring each time he
~ awoke.
Both vaqueros were sick and worried
when Hatfield roused them in the morn-
ing, after rebuilding the fire and cooking
his own breakfast. They wanted nothing
to eat, and they had to force themselves
to drink coffee. Just as the Ranger had
anticipated.
They were slow in breaking camp, and
_ when at last they were in the saddle, they
looked as though they wanted to dismount
and lie down again. Hatfield would have
been amused had he not known what they
planned for him.
He said, “How much farther is Shayne’s
hide-out?”
Juan said, “A day’s ride, I think.”
“Tell me how to find it, and I’ll go on
alone.’’,
He could see that they were tempted,
but after exchanging glances, they shook
their heads. And Juan said, “Robusto
would not like it, senor. We were told to
take you the whole way.”
ATFIELD insisted,
farther is it?”
“We will reach the place by sundown,”
Juan said. “We follow this trail until we
come to a butte. We turn east beyond the
“But how much
butte, and there is a big arroyo. We ride -
along the arroyo to its far end, then turn
_ south again. To the mountains. The hide-
out is in a canyon. You will not find it
without us, I think.”
“All right,” Hatfield said.
going.”
“Let’s get
He kept them ahead of him and, for
most of the morning, they rode in silence
and suffered from their hangovers. When
the noon halt was made, they drank more
coffee and ate a little food. And recovered
somewhat. But as they, felt better physi-
cally, they became more worried. They
began to cast furtive glances at Hatfield.
He gave them no chance to get behind
him.
In the saddle again, they shortly saw
the red butte looming ahead. And after
perhaps a half-dozen miles, they reached
its base. They circled its end, located the
arroyo and rode into it. It was a broad
gully, and the sandy bottom showed hoof
tracks. It was a trail used by many riders, .
and Hatfield knew that he no longer
needed Juan and Miguel. He was about
to call to them, to tell them so, when
Miguel suddenly halted, got down, and
began to fuss with the spare animal’s
pack.
“What’s wrong, hombre?” Hatfield de-
manded.
“The pack,”
ping.” = -
The pack was not slipping, Hatfield saw.
And he sensed that they had made up
their minds that now was the time to
carry out Robusto’s orders. He glanced
at Juan, who had swung his horse about,
and Juan’s gun was in his hand.
As the Lone Wolf put Goldie into a
quick wheeling, Juan’s slug missed him
by a narrow margin. The man swore in
a frightened way, and aimed for another
shot. But Hatfield had one of his Colts out,
and it roared before Juan could fire a
second time. There was a wild scream
from Juan as the Ranger’s slug tore
through his right arm. He reeled in his
saddle, and his horse began to buck.
Hatfield swung his gun toward Miguel,
for Miguel now was drawing. Again the
Lone Wolf’s gun crashed, ang Miguel’s
shot, as he took a slug in the arm, went
into the ground. 7 |
_ Both vaqueros lost their weapons, and
Miguel fell to his knees while Juan,
bucked from his spooked ‘horse, lay
sprawled on the ground. They moaned,
more frightened than in pain.
The Lone Wolf’s voice lashed at them.
said Miguel. “It is slip-
TRAIL OF THE ‘DESERT WITCH 29
“Get an your econes” he ordered. “Head
back to Muleshoe, and let Ben Tyson
patch you up. Then head for the X Bar X
Ranch and tell Robusto I’ll be back to deal
with him some day!”’
They picked themselves up and with
some trouble, due to their wounds, mount-
ed their horses. He told them to leave the
pack horse, and to ride out fast. They
‘obeyed willingly enough, fearful that he
would change his mind and kill them.
He watched them until they were lost
to sight around the base of the arroyo,
then holstered his gun and caught up the
pack-horse’s halter rope. Starting on, he
saw that he was not alone. A half-dozen
riders had reined in abreast and blocked
the gully a hundred yards beyond. They
had come around a bend in the arroyo,
and had been hidden until now by its
banks.
Six hard-visaged men.
After a moment of staring at him, they
came on at a walk. They did not draw
their guns, but still Jim Hatfield felt un-
easiness. He had never seen such a pirati-
cal-looking bunch of men.
They reined in again, facing him.
One said, “We were just in time to see
your expert display of marksmanship, sir.
I compliment you upon it. However, my
own rule is to shoot to kill: You are, I as-
sume, Tall Tom Dolan.”
A fancy talker, but it was he who gave
the group the piratical touch. He had a
short red beard and wore a black patch
over his left eye, while across his right
cheek was a long jagged scar.
“Permit me to introduce myself, sir. I
am Major Bucky Shayne.”
“T’ve heard of you,” said Hatfield.
“Most =. have. I say that modestly,
Dolan.”
“My name is Smith, Major. Just plain
Smith.”
HAYNE chuckled. “You don’t need to
be coy with us, Tall Tom. We heard
you were on your way, and we're glad to
welcome you to the Big Bend, which by
_ the way, is something of an outlaw’s para-
dise.” He suddenly sobered, and his sin-
gle eye bored at Hatfield. “Who were your
partners, and why did they try to kill you,
Dolan?”’
Hatfield shrugged. “A couple of x Bar
X riders,” he said. “I happened by that
place and was offered a job by the lady —
who owns ‘it. I didn’t want the job, and
her man, Robusto O’Reilly, didn’t want
me around the place. So he offered to have
his two men guide me to your hide-out.
But he’d given them orders to kill me.”
He grinned at Shayne. “Because the lady .
seemed to take a fancy to me.”
“A charming lady,” Shayne said. “Ro-
busto is to be envied.” His eye winked
slyly: “But of course Robusto won’t be
so fortunate when I get around to taking
his place at the X Bar X Ranch—or the
Double Cross Ranch, as some call it. You |
have a good reputation, Dolan. And be-
cause of it, I’m glad to have you join my
little group.” 3
“Better go easy, Bucky,” one of the
others said. “You can’t be sure he’s Tall
Tom Dolan. Me, I’ve seen this hombre
somewhere. If I could remember where it
was—”’ |
Hatfield felt quick alarm. He did not
know the speaker, a swarthy, dour-faced —
man, but it was possible that the man had
seen him somewhere, as a Texas Ranger,
and would remember that. If memory told
him that here was not the outlaw Dolan
- but a lawman, Jim Hatfield’s life wouldn’t
be worth a plugged peso.
But Bucky Shayne said cheerfully,
“You're a scary old maid, Dutch. You’ve
been everywhere, haven’t you? You could
have seen Dolan up in the Hole-in-the-
Wall country.” He looked back at Hatfield.
“Come along sir. We'll show you a hide-
out that’s better than Hole-in-the-Wall!”
Hatfield could: only obey. Even if he
wanted’ to do otherwise, he could not —
have ridden in any direction than toward
the outlaw hide-out. He was carrying out
his mission, and in a shorter period of
time than he had expected. Major Bucky
Shayne, soldier of fortune turned bandit,
was an unsuspicious sort.
But the man called Dutch was some-
thing else again.
~ 80 | TEXAS RANGERS
Hatfield rode alongside Shayne, and the
others fell in behind them. Dutch rode
just behind the Lone Wolf, and his murky
gaze clung to the big man posing as Tall
Tom Dolan. Hatfield was aware of it, and
mentally squirmed.
He knew that Dutch was probing his
memory, probing deep into it.
And sooner or later, it would respond.
Then there would be hell to pay!
CHAPTER V
~ The Roost
HAYNE’S outlaw roost was several
y miles back through a narrow high-
walled canyon. Entrance to the canyon
was by a narrow cut in some cliffs, and
the cut was hidden by rocks and brush.
Jim Hatfield knew now why the Rangers
had never rounded up Shayne and his
bunch. With word reaching Bucky Shayne
- that lawmen were in the Bend, he would
have his men withdraw into the canyon
after, almost certainly, taking the precau-
tion of obliterating all tracks outside the
entrance. Hoof tracks in the loose ground
could be wiped away by using pieces of
_ brush for brooms. And riders not familiar
with the immediate country would cer-
tainly pass the cut in the cliffs without
spotting it.
Hatfield had heard much about the
- more notorious Hole-in-the-Wall that was
a hide-out for the outlaws of Wyoming
‘and Montana, and he imagined that this
canyon—Major Bucky Shayne called it
simply “The Roost”—was no less formi-
dable a hiding place.
For the first couple of miles, the canyon
floor was dense with hides and brush.
Then there was a widened portion with
grass for horses, and a small clear-water
stream. Here a dorsi or more crude build-
ings stood, some mere picket houses with
- brush roofs, and others of adobe. The lat-
ter were of fair-size. Numerous men, all
as tough-looking as Hatfield’s escort,
you re good enough for me.
loafed about this settlement. Too, as was
the case at the Hole-in-the-Wall, there
were a few women.
As they reined in before one of {he
adobes, Shayne pointed to the canyon
wall. It was a sloping wall here, and mid- -
Way up was the mouth of a cave. :
“That’s where we hold our celebra-
tions,’ Shayne said, with some pride. “We
call the cave the Casino. We’ve got a har
and gambling lay-outs there. We’ll go up
later. The fun doesn’t start until after
dark.”
They Sigiicunted sand put their os
into a fenced meadow, leaving their sad-
dles on the pole fence. Shayne told Hat-
field to bring his bedroll into his dobe.
The others who had ridden in with them
headed for a larger building that looked
like a bunkhouse, the man called Dutch
giving the Lone Wolf one last gloomy
look.
Shayne’s place was a one-room house
with a fireplace, a plank table and bench-
es, and a single bunk. He nodded toward
a corner and told Hatfield to dump his
bedroll there. A bottle and a couple of
tin cups stood on the table, and Shayne >
poured each of them a drink. —
Lifting his cup, he said, ‘“Here’s to our
hitting it off, Dolan.” He grinned through
his red beard. “We’ll get on if you remem-
ber that I’m head man here.”
Hatfield grinned back. “Don’t worry
that Pll try to step in your boots, Major.”
Shayne seemed pleased that the man
he thought was Tall Tom Dolan used his
title. They drank the toast, then Shayne
offered Hatfield a cigar. He lighted it for
himself when Hatfield said that he would
stick to his makings. They sat down be-
side the table, the Lone Wolf rolling a
cigarette.
Shayne said, “Maybe you re ns
why I’ve given you a royal welcome, Tom
boy. It’s because I need a good man for
a lieutenant. I’ve got nearly fifty men in
my band, but the lot of them are fools.
Not a one has any brains. But you’ve rid-
den with Butch Cassidy, and he’s one of
the best. If you were good enough for him,
Besides,
Z
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH _ 31
you've proved you’re smart by the way
you got away from the Rangers. I’ve got
_ big things lined up, and you can help me
swing them and keep this bunch in line.”
“What are your plans, Major? Or are
they secret?”
“T’ve a raid planned that will make
Butch Cassidy and every other outlaw
leader green with envy.”
“And you’re letting me in on it?”
“It'll be a test for you, friend.”
“Oh? How do you mean?”
HAYNE said, “If you can show me I
can count on you to relieve me of
some of the dirty work of handling a
bunch of riff raff, you'll be in my good
graces. And you'll get a share of the loot.
The details of the raid are all worked out,
and all that remains is to grease the palm
of a certain hombre south of -the Rio
Grande. A General Merardo. When I re-
ceive word from him, I ante up—and then
we'll ride.”
“Into Mexico, eh?”
“That's it, Tom.”
“Risky, isn’t it?”
“Not with Merardo giving us a helping
hand,” Shayne said. “He’ll keep the Fed-
99
eral soldiers and the Rurales busy. We—” |
He paused, as a Mexican woman en-
tered the dobe. She was a good-looking
woman despite her plumpness. Shayne
spoke to her in Spanish, telling her to
prepare supper for three instead of two
tonight. He patted her as she passed. him
on her way to the fireplace. She laughed
throatily, and Shayne chuckled.
“Conchita may not be the looker that
the Forbes woman is,” he said, “but I’d
bet plenty she’s a better cook. I hope
you've got an appetite, bucko.”
“T have that,” Hatfield said. “And I'll
get cleaned up before supper.” He went
out to where he’d left his saddle on the
meadow fence.
He had the information Captain Mc-
Dowell needed—the location of the hide-
out, the number of Shayne’s followers, and
knew that a raid into Mexico was being
planned. If it were dark, he could ride
out and make his way back to Ben Ty-
ee
son’s store and give the storekeeper of
many talents the information, to be re-
layed to McDowell. But it was now only
sundown, and he dared not attempt to run
out on the hospitable Major Bucky
Shayne. He would be missed before he
got out of the canyon. He had to face
grim reality that it would be more. diffi-
cult to leave the Roost than it had been
to get into it.
He had a razor, soap, a comb, and a
spare shirt in his satidicbnes. He carried
them to a spot where the creek was
fringed by brush, stripped and took a
quick bath. Then he donned levis and
boots, worked a lather onto his bristly
face and scraped it clean with his razor.
Shaved, he combed his hair. He was reach-
ing for his clean shirt when a voice said;
“So you, Handsome, are Tall Tom Do-
lan.”
A woman’s voice.
Hatfield whirled and saw her ae up
on a slab of rock no more than fifty feet
upstream. He must have looked startled,
for she laughed. She was young—in her
twenties, Hatfield guessed. She had henna-
tinted hair, and her face was powdered
and painted like a dancehall girl’s. She
wore a plain gingham dress of faded
green. But on her it wasn’t plain. It was
cut low at the neck, and the skirt was so
short that a great deal of bare leg was
revealed. The bodice was form-fitting; in
fact, it was so snug that her generous
curves were sharply outlined. Hatfield
saw so much as he wondered with a part
of mind how long she had been there on
the rock.
“Are you, Handsome?” she said. “Are
you Tall Tom Dolan?”
“That’s right. I’m Dolan.”
“T hear you’re quite a man. You look 3
like quite a man, too.”
“Thanks.”
“Por nada—as the Mexicans say. My >
name's Rita.” She slowly lifted her arms,
pushed the heavy waves of hennaed hair
up from the nape of her neck, then arched
‘her back, boldly displaying herself. Her
movements were sensuous. Her eyes were -
half-closed now, watching Hatfield. “You
32
like Rita, Handsome?”
He put on his shirt. “Nice, ” he said.
“Sure, nice. But do you like?”
“T Tike.”
“We'll be friends, eh, Handsome?”
E BUCKLED-on his gins. put on his
stetson, and gathered up his toilet
articles.
“Call me Tom,” he told her. “Then we
won't be enemies.’
“All right, Tom. Come here.”
Hatfield hesitated. This was an outcast
woman, and no doubt she belonged to
one of the outlaws. She was trouble. She
was trouble no matter how he handled
_ her. If he played up to her, somebody was
- going to be jealous. If he scorned her, she
would almost certainly fly into a fury and
make things difficult for him.
She said, “Come here and show Rita
you like er”
Hatfield was saved from having to make
a decision as to what to do about the girl
by the sudden appearance of the dour-
faced outlaw, Dutch. The man came
through the bushes and halted with his
thumbs hooked in his gun-belt. He divid-
ed a sour glance between Hatfield and
Rita. |
~“You work fast, Dolan,
is she the fast worker?”’
Here was trouble again. The Lone Wolf
sensed that Dutch had followed him to
” he said. “Or
TEXAS RAN GERS
Hatfield said, “Forget it. We were just
talking. No feces | is done.”
_ He walked away from the pair of ‘her.
and knew that Dutch Brucker was staring
after him. |
After supper with Bucky Shayne and
the woman named Conchita, Hatfield
rolled and lighted a cigarette and went te
the doorway of the house. Darkness lay
thickly black in the canyon, and the build-
ings of the outlaw settlement had lamp-
lighted windows like the houses of a law-
abiding community. Up the sloping can-
yon wall, the mouth of the cave was
brightly lighted. Men were climbing the
slope. Riders came in, both from. the
north and the south ends of the canyon.
They dismounted and headed for the cave,
like cowhands coming into a town for an
evening at a saloon.
The night was still young. Hatfield won-
dered if he could make his way from the
canyon under cover of darkness, and his
departure not be discovered until morn-
ing. Then in the shadows of a dobe oppo-
site Shayne’s house a match flared. The
flame was lifted to a cigarette, and the
cigarette was between the humorless lips
of Dutch Brucker.
the creek in the hope that another look -
would prod his laggard memory. Dutch
wanted badly to remember where it had
been that he had befofe seen the man
who was now calling himself Tall Tom
Dolan.
Hatfield said, “She’s your woman?”’
“If she was, I’d use a whip on her,”
Dutch said. “She’s Sailor Dunn’s woman.”
“Mind your own business, Dutch Bruck-
er!” the girl cried. She was no longer try- —
ing to look her best, and anger made her
ugly. “I’m my own woman, and I'll do as
JT like—with whoever I like!”’
“Yeah. Till Sailor gets back.”
‘T’ll take care of Sailor Dunn!”
“He'll skin you alive if he catches you
playing up to this cute,
A quiver knifed through the Lone Wolf.
Dutch was watching him, and wanted him
to know it. Dutch was sure he was not
Tall Tom Dolan. Somehow the man had
sensed it. There would be no leaving the ©
canyon tonight. This gloomy, suspicious
outlaw would make sure that he didn’t
leave the Roost.
‘Shayne came to the door and put an-
arm about Hatfield’s shoulders. “Now
that Conchita’s fed us, let’s go up on
Casino,” he said. “You haven’t lived un-_
til you’ve seen what we've got up there; y
bucko!” —
They set out together, like a couple of
close friends. ;
And a man followed them. Dutch
Brucker.
The entrance was about ten feet wide
and eight high, and the cavern itself was
perhaps sixty feet across and eighty deep.
It had the musty smell of all caves, but
there was also the odor of liquor fumes
° &
—
St
‘TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH ae
zily. Her bare brown legs sic She =
and tobacco oe 2 the perfume of
women and ‘the sweaty smell . of ces
men.
The place was brightly lighted ee a
dozen or more lamps.
Along one side was a plank bar with
two men working behind it—a fat Mexi-
ean and a ruddy-faced American with
pomaded hair..In the center of the cave
and to the other side were numerous
crude plank tables and benches. At the
rear were several other tables covered
with green baize, and they, along with a
roulette wheel obtained from where only
Major Bucky Shayne knew, were the
gambling lay-outs. __
BOUT forty men were in the place,
and mingling with them were near-
ly a dozen women. Most of the men were
Americans, and the minority Mexicans.
Some of the women were mere girls, oth-
ers middle-aged but trying to hide their
years with gaudy dresses and paint and
powder. Several were dusky seforitas,
and the others fair-skinned gringas. Their
voices were shrill, and their laughter too
loud.
The bar was lined with men, and most
of the tables were occupied. A- poker game
was under way at one green-covered ta-
ble, and at another a Mexican was run-
ning a monte bank. Two men were rolling
dice at a third table. A man who looked
like an erstwhile professional gambler
was croupier at the roulette lay-out, and
it was mostly women who responded to
his flat-voiced, “Place your bets!”
A man with a fiddle and another with
a banjo added music to the rowdy din
in the place, and shortly after Hatfield
and Shayne were seated at a table and
served with a bottle and glasses by one
of the bartenders, a girl in the short red
skirt and low-cut white blouse affected by
peon women began to dance in time with
the music and a pair of castanets in her
hands.
It was an abandoned dance, and caught
the attention of the crowd. The castanets.
clicked faster, and the girl’s body picked
up the tempo until she was swirling diz-
leaped gracefully onto. a bench, then atop
a table.
Men yelled, sivooed their hands. The
other women shrieked, squealed. |
Above the uproar, Bucky Shayne asked,
‘How do you like it here, bucko?”
Hatfield merely smiled.
From the corner of his eye, he saw
Dutch Brucker watching him from the
end of the bar. The dancer finally became
still, wilting to a limp sitting position on
the table. Men yelled for more, and
‘pitched money to her. Gold and silver
coins, bills. A shower of money.
Shayne’s woman, Conchita, came and
sat down beside the one-eyed bandit chief.
Then from over by the roulette wheel,
Rita came pushing through the throng of
men gathered about the dancer on the
table.
The dancer borrowed a man’s hat, ga-
thered up the money, and dropped it into ~
the stetson. Phen, slowly, sensuously, she
rose on the table and began to click her
castanets.
Her body began to writhe while her
slippered feet remained still.
Rita slipped around behind Hatfield,
lay her hands on his shoulders.
“T’ve been waiting for you Handsome,”
she said. “And now*f’ve got you.’
“Sit down, ” he said, “and have a drink.”
“Sure.”
She sat down beside him on the bench,
close. She reached for his glass, empiied
it.
“Bourbon,” she said.
bourbon. That’s what friends of Bucky
Shane rate. The rest of us have to dns
rotgut.”’
Bee grinfied at She “You get to be
Tall Tom’s friend, and you’ll be drinking
bourbon all the ‘time,” he said. “But
there’s just one hitch. Sailor Dunn is due
back tonight.” He chuckled.
Sailor is here now.”
Rita uttered a little screech of alarm.
Hatfield looked around at the man just
entering the cave. And Sailor Dunn’s gaze
already was on him and Rita, the look in
his eyes one of jealous rage.
“New Giians
“In fact,
a
34 3 : TEXAS RANGERS
CHAPTER VI
Woman Scorned
UNN was a barrel-bodied man. He
wore a buckskin jacket, open from
the throat to reveal a large tattoo of a
sailing ship on his muscle-corded chest.
Perhaps he had once been to sea, but Jim
Hatfield suspected that the tattoo had
earned him his nickname.
Rita’s hand gripped Hatfield’s arm.
“Don’t take anything off him!” she said.
“Show him who’s the better man, Hand-
some!”
Bucky Shayne’s eyes gleamed. “Friend,
you're in for a hard time of it,” he said.
“Sailor is a brawler from away back.”
Hatfield said nothing. It was a time
when words were meaningless. He could
not say he had no designs gn the girl. That
would merely get him called a liar. He
would have to fight. Fight over a woman
he didn’t want. He smiled wryly.
Sailor Dunn came to the table, and the
great strength of him could be seen in his
heavy, sloping shoulders. He said nothing
at all, but grabbed Rita by the arm and
dragged her off the bench. She screamed.
Dunn didn’t hit hér. He simply whipped
her away from the bench with his one-
handed grip on her arm, and she went
hurtling across the cave to fall in a heap
by the bar. ee
Grabbing the bench then, he tried to
topple it and Hatfield. But the Lone
Wolf moved swiftly, coming to his feet.
Dunn flung the empty bench aside, and
it crashed into a table with a great splin-
— tering of wood.
“Matey,’ Dunn said, “you sure picked
the wrong wench.”
Without more ado, he rushed.
He was fast for so heavy a man, and
though his blows were clumsy, the power
of them was terrific and the Lone Wolf,
slugged alongside the face was knocked
to his knees. A boot slammed into his
chest the next instant, and he went sprawl-
§
ing on the rocky floor of the cave. Sean 2
let out a yelp of glee, and moved in to
stomp him. :
Though dazed, the —— rolled away .
and came catlike to his feet. Dunn rushed
him again, too eager now, and Hatfield
feinted with his right fist, then crossed
with his left. The blow caught Sailor
Dunn between the eyes, jolting him so
that he stopped dead in his tracks.
The attention of the rowdy crowd no
longer was on the contortions of the danc-
ing girl on the table. Every eye was on
the two big men brawling over a woman.
And already men were betting, the odds
on Sailor Dunn. There were shouts of en-
couragement for Dunn.
He was wary now, having been hit and
hit hard. He sidestepped behind a table,
then gave it a sudden, violent shove to-
ward the Lone Wolf. Hatfield dodged: it,
braced himself for the man’s rush. Dunn
came at him, but pulled up short \and
aimed a kick at Hatfield’s groin. The Lone
Wolf fell away from the kick, but grabbed
Dunn’s up-swung foot. And jerked.
Dunn went down on head and shoul-
ders, struck heavily on the rock floor,
and his face lost its ruddy color. He lay
for a long moment, gasping. Then with
a roared oath, he rolled over and heaved
erect. He staggered to the table where
Bucky Shane still sat, and grabbed up
the bourbon bottle. He broke the bottle
against the edge of the table, then lunged
at Hatfield in an attempt to use the jagged
glass as a weapon, aiming the broken bot-
tle at the Ranger’s face.
Hatfield ducked aside. Then, with Dunn
reeling off-balance due to missing his
blow, he battered the man hard about the
head. Dunn dropped the bottle, howled,
flung his arms up to shield his face. Hat-
field aimed his next*punch, one with all
his weight behind it, to the heart. He felt
the impact all to way to the soles of his
feet, and Sailor Dunn, going all loose,
oallenuad to his knees.
“Enough, friend?” Hatfield asked harsh-
ly. 3
“Hell, no!”
But Dunn was slow in rising. and now
¥
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH ee 27
-the crowd, disappointed in him, yelled for
Hatfield to finish him. 7
“Boot him, Dolan! Cripple him!”
They were a brutal lot, these outlaws.
And a foolish lot. They admired only a
winner, feeling no compassion at all for
a beaten man. Hatfield himself wanted it
over with. He didn’t want to batter the
man more.
UT Dunn came to his feet, game. as
2 2 man could be, muttering, “I’ve nev-
er been whipped. I won’t be now!” He
“Henry! Bring the camera! [ve found
the cutest desert rat!”
ed Mio ne Rien tem
came at Hatfield, wobbly on his legs,
bleeding from the nose, his great chest
- heaving. He took a blow to the jaw, shook
his head, growled in his throat; but kept
coming, trying’ to get his thick arms about
Hatfield’s middle.
The Ranger eluded him: Infuriated,
Dunn bored in and struck wild, clubbing —
blows. Hatfield was struck once, twice, a
third time. He was driven back until he
came up against the bar. Dunn tried to
trap him there, again attempted to grapple
with him. But Hatfield ducked low, slipped
‘away from the man’s awful embrace.
- Dunn swore again and came after him.
But he left himself wide open, and now __
the Ranger, heartily sick of it, stood his
ground and battered the fellow unmerci-
fully. To end it, he had to punish Sailor
Dunn. The man was wobbly again. Hat-
field easily parried his slow punches, and
at last floored him again with a blow to
the heart and another to the chin as the
men’s knees buckled. 7
This time Dunn, though not out, was
unable to rise. He sat slumped against the
bar, his head lolling.
Men cro:-ded around Hatfield, slapping
him on the back. |
He looked for Rita, and told her, “Come
here.” When she came to him, her eyes
shining with excitement, he said, “He’s
your man. Take care of him.”’
“Why, you—”’ ; ;
“Don’t be a little fool,” Hatfield said. “I
didn’t try to take you away from him, and
I’m not taking you now. He’s got a claim
on you and—” 3
Buckv Shayne appeared beside him, and
said, “To the victors belong the spoils,
friend. Pick up your winnings.”
The cave was silent now, and every-
body was staring at Hatfield as though
they didn’t know what to make of him.
But Sailor Dunn, picking himself up and
holding to the bar for support, grinned
‘broadly. |
“Now. here’s a real shipmate,” he said,
his voice shaky and yet hearty. “Matey, I
always figured I’d hate the guts of the
man who finally licked,me. But you’re a
man after my own heart!”
He thrust cut his hand, and Hatfield
smiling thinly, gripped it.
He’d made a friend, it seemed. But Rita |
was regarding him with bitter eyes, and
Dutch Brucker was still staring at him
moodily. Bucky Shayne, his arm about
Conchita’s waist, shook his head disap-
provingly. :
“There’s a soft streak in you, friend,”
he said. “And that’s no good.”
He seemed disappointed in Tall Tom
Dolan.
With Conchita an occupant of Shayne’s
adobe house, Hatfield had an excuse to
move his bedroll outside. He suggested it
Sed
ght 78
rags
= es
eS
og Od ale SIE Ae Sul Bee a i Nae ia
36 . PEXAS RANGERS ©
when they left the cave, some time later.
By that time Bucky Shayne was a little
drunk, and he leaned heavily upon’ Con-
chita as they descended the slope.
“Have it your way,” he said to Hatfield.
“But you won’t be crowding us.”
Once they reached the house, Hatfield
got his bedroll and said goodnight. Shayne
merely grunted, either because he was
displeased with the man he had believed
to be Tall Tom Dolan or because he was
already too occupied with his woman.
Hatfield bedded down near the creek,
and lay in his blankets pondering his
chances of getting Goldie from the
meadow and riding out. Shortly he heard
someone prowling nearby in the darkness
and guessed it was Dutch Brucker. And
again he knew that tonight was not the
time for him to leave the Roost. He
would have to wait until Brucker got
“tired of watching him. :
For Bucky Shayne and his_ outlaw
‘bunch, life at the Roost was one long
picnic. There was no work to do, though
many of the men at times rode out some-
where on. secret errands. There was
plenty of food, plenty of whisky, and
enough women for companionship. These
men wanted nothing more, except, of
course, the excitement of an occasional
“Sob.” There was much money in the
camp, loot from nefarious activities, and
it kept circulating through gambling. For
_ Jim Hatfield,
existence.
He found no opportunity to leave, for
Brucker still watched him and Shayne
demanded his company. Shayne was a
great talker, and over and over he related
his adventures as a soldier of fortune in
a half-dozen Latin-American countries.
The man was restless much of the time,
for he expected to hear from General
Merardo and no message came. Rita went
about with Sailor Dunn, and when she
saw Hatfield her eyes flashed with hatred.
= Dunn, though, was friendly.
N THE third day Hatfield had bes
loafing about the hide-out a message
‘came from General Merardo. Three’riders
it was a boring sort of —
came from Mexico. 'Swarthy men, each
with a bandido mustache. They wore big _
sombreros and had gaily colored serapes
over their shoulders and bandoliers of
cartridges across their chests.
They met with Major Bucky Skagte
in his house. |
The meeting lasted for more than an
hour, and when it was over the three
Mexicans rode away while Shayne shouted
from his doorway to gather his men.
When they were assembled, Shayne’ s Ted-
bearded face wore a grin.
“It won’t be long now, friends,” he told
them. “I’ve had word = General Mer-
ardo that he'll soon be ready to start a
campaign in Coahuila. He’s going to take
over the government and make himself
governor. That will keep the Federal
troops: and the Rurales busy—and leave
us a free hand in Chihuahua. And we'll
gather mucho loot!”
There were cheers from the outlaws.
Shayne continued, “But first we’ve got
a job of work. We’ve got to ante up to
Merardo. He needs rifles, ammunition,
horseshoes, provisions. The stuff is wait-
ing at the X Bar X Ranch, and we'll have
to get it and bring it here by pack-mule.
Now I-know you buckoes aren’t anxious
to work, so—”
There was loud laughter.
“So I’m asking for volunteers,”
said.
Eager as they were to go raiding into
Mexico, the outlaws weren’t anxious to
work as packers. There was a lot of ban-
tering as they argued among themselves
as to who should volunteer. -
Hatfield said, “Count me in, Major,”
and the*gloomy Dutch Brucker echoed,
“Me, too.” Then Sailor Dunn yelled, “If >
Tall Tom’s not afraid of work, I’m not.
Shayne
either. I’m with you, Bucky!”
That touched it off, and shortly Shayne
had a dozen men to accompany him. He
ordered them to get their horses, saying
they would start out at once.
Excitement gripped Hatfield as he went
to the meadow for Goldie. The trail to the
-X& Bar X Ranch led past Ben Tyson’s
store at Muleshoe, and he might be’ able
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH 37 |
to give a message to the man. The others
had to go into the meadow with lariats
to. catch their mounts, but Hatfield
whistled for the well-trained Goldie and
the golden sorrel came prancing up to the
gate; ~
Hatfield led the big horse away from
the gate to saddle it, and then, keeping
Goldie between him and the other men,
he took a piece of paper and a stubby
- pencil from his pocket. Using. his saddle
to write upon, he quickly scrawled the
information he wanted Ben Tyson to
relay to Captain McDowell. He probably
wouldn’t get a chance to talk alone with
Tyson, but he might be able to slip a
note to him. He folded the paper and
pocketed it He thought he was unob-
served until he turned and saw Rita
watching him.
“What are you up to, Dolan?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Writing something. I saw you.”
“Tt wasn’t anything.”
“Yeah?” She came and stood before
him. “Let me see that paper.”
Hatfield forced a chuckle. “You're still
sore at me,” he said, hoping that by chang-
ing the subject he could get her mind
off what she had seen. But he saw sus-
picion lingering in his eyes, and knew she
wouldn’t forget that he’d been doing
something odd for an outlaw. Rita was
still trouble.
“Show me it was nothing,”
“Or I'll start yelling.”
He was dealing with a woman of no
morals, and suddenly he knew that he
must treat her as such, even though it
was contrary to his nature. She had him
she said.
in a tight. If she called to the men-and |
they forcibly took the note and read it,
his life would be forfeit. Somehow he
had to get around this woman he had
scorned.
He laughed again, reached out, caught
her by the arms. “Sure, I made a mis-
take when I let Sailor keep you,” he
told her. “I know that now.” He felt
her quiver. Her mouth remained sullen,
but her eyes softened. He went on, “It'll
be different when I get back. You and I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Dolan!”
“Well, if you’ve changed your itil
about me, all right.”
HE said fiercely, “I didn’t say that.
I’m fool enough to still want you. I
can’t get. you out of my mind.” She gazed
steadily into his eyes. “I’ve a notion that
I’ve got the whiphand now, my friend.
Either you keep your promise when you
get back or I'll tell Bucky Shayne what
I saw you doing.” She lifted her hands,
took his face between them then, standing
on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his
in a long, hard kiss. ‘““Now!” she told him.
“That’s how it’s going to be. Ill crack
the whip and you'll jump!”
“That won’t be hard to do.”
“But I sure don’t know why I ‘want
you after you turned me down.”
“T told you I was sorry, Rita,” he said.
She stepped back, saying, “Yes, you
told me. You said it was a mistake. You'll
be going by way of Tyson’s Place. Bring
me a present from there. You hear?”
He nodded. “Something nice,” he said,
and drew a relieved breath when Bucky
Shayne called to him.
There were thirteen of them, and some
one of them—one of the more super-
stitious—commented on it. “It’s unlucky,”
the man said uneasily. ‘Thirteen riders.
I don’t like it.”
Bucky Shayne laughed. He and Hat-
field were riding together, with Dutch
Brucker riding just behind them and the ©
others following by pairs. Shayne was in
a rare good humor, now that he was
taking the first step toward carrying out
his plan to raid down in Mexico.
“A man makes his own luck,” Shayne
said.
Jim Hatfield ‘felt a sudden Ts
The prospect of loot was only a part of.
the man’s eagerness. Shayne was trfly
an adventurer, a soldier of fortune. He
wanted to ride at the head of an armed
band; he wanted to pillage and kill and
worse, and no doubt he would be disap-
pointed if the raid were carriéd out with-
out bloodshed. Major Bucky Shayne was
a scoundrel, and Hatfield knew that the
2
ao
38 : TEXAS RANGERS :
outlaw leader must be destroyed...as
though he were a mad dog.
The note must get into Ben Tvson’s
hands, and the sooner the better. If Cap-
tain McDowell received the information
in time and got Rangers to the Roost be-
fore Shayne and his band -headed for
south of the Rio Grande, it would mean
the saving of the lives of many Mexican
villagers and rancheros. If there w2s some
hitch in McDowell’s plans and the raid
wasn’t carried out it might mean, too,
that the Rurales would carry out cic
threat to cross into the Big Bend and
have a try at wiping out the Shayne
crowd.
Hatfield had no doubts okoas the Ru-
rales trying such a bold scheme. Nor did
he question their ability to find the out-
law hide-out, since he knew how Rurales
operated. They would simply enter the
Bend and pick up whatever men they
encountered until they found one who
could lead them to the Roost. And the
very men who would refuse to talk
to the Texas Rangers would talk plenty
to the Rurales—and speak the truth. They
had ways of loosening togues. So to save
lives and to forestall the Rurales, Hat-
field needed to get his note into Ben Ty-
‘son’s hands. As soon as possible!
It was nearly sundown when the band
reached Muleshoe. Tyson’s Place was
like an oasis for them, and once they
sighted the grubby little settlement, they
lifted their mounts to a hard run. They
dropped from their saddles and crowded
through the saloon doorway with a lot
of rough horseplay, except for Bucky
Shayne who held his pace to Hatfield’s.
“See what I mean?” he said. “A bunch
of ignoramuses. They go loco over the
chance at a few drinks. They need to learn
discipline, and you and I will teach it to
them when we cross the Rio Grande!”
Hatfield noticed as he dismounted that
two horses in the X Bar X iron stood at
the hitch-rack in front of the store en-
trance. One was a dun, and the other, a
fine sorrel, was rigged with a side-saddle.
Knowing that the sorrel had been ridden
there by Lanya Forbes, he felt a sudden
ee TR I = Sete Ne Es saa’ Ss = Sag See
ee ae . IP ir ae ee ae S= x
excitement. In spite of himself. he: was
as much under the woman‘s spell as se
many other men.
A Mexican was on duty Cokie the bar,
and he’d served several customers before
the arrival of the outlaws. One of these
was Robusto O’Reilly. Hatfield glanced
through the wide doorway connecting the
barroom and store. Lanya Forbes was at
the counter and being waited on by Ben
Tyson. The woman was wearing a dark
brown riding habit such as was fashion-
able in the East.
HAYNE spoke to Robusto in low
tones, no doubt telling him that they
were on their way to the X Bar X Ranch
to get the stored supplies. Robusto
nodded, finished his drink, then turned |
toward the doorway to the adjoining
room.
But Shayne said, “Hold on, friend. One
of my boys has a crow to pick with you.”
Robusto faced about, a wary look in
his blue eyes. His handsome face stiffened
at sight of Jim Hatfield. The wary look
was replaced by one of guilt.
Shayne’s single eye gleamed. “Yeah—
Dolan,” he said. “You gave him a couple
of guides to take him to the Roost, but
you gave them orders to kill him along
the way.” He glanced at Hatfield. “What
are you going to do about it, bucko?”
' Hatfield had taken out makings. He
spilled tobacco into a paper. He said,
“That’s between Robusto and me. A pri-
vate affair. Ill take care of him in my
own good time.” | 4
“There’s no better time than now,’
Shayne said. “You’re fast with a gun, ee
this Mexican Irishman: is supposed to be
fast with his. My money’s on you, Tall
Tom. [ll tell you what, friends. Ill count
to three, then the pair of you grab for
your shooting-irons. And may the best
man win.’
Hatfield rolled and lighted his cea.
then said, “Major, do your own killings.
I don’ t bnow why you want Robusto dead,
but—
Shayne cut in, “Maybe it’s hetanee ze
want to take his place with the widow.”
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH » 39
Robusto’s face was still stiff, and now
glistened with sweat.
Hatfield dragged hard on his cigarette.
“We'll settle it later, eh, Robusto? When
we're alone. You agreeable?”
Robusto managed a wavering grin. “Si
—Later.”
He turned and went into the store.
Shayne laughed, then faced the bar and
demanded a bottle of the bartender. He
drank the whisky directly from it, and
it was a long drink. He set down the
bottle, wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand, then said, “Now I feel like
having a little sport with the Desert
Witch.”
Hatfield followed him into the merchan-
dise-cluttered room. Lanya was paying
Tyson for her purchases, and they were
in a flour-sack that Robusto lifted from
the counter. Shayne went straight to the
woman and put his arm about her waist.
Lanya whirled, slapped him hard across
his scarred cheek. It was no playful slap,
but a real blow that was loud in the room
and rocked Shayne’s head.
“I warn you, Shayne,” she said icily,
“don’t ever touch me again!”’
The man’s face was ugly. “What’ll you
do? Have Robusto gun me down?”
“Just that.”
Shayne forced a laugh. “Go ahead, Ro-
busto,” he said. “Gun me down, for I’m
sure going to touch your woman again.”
There was a trapped look in Robusto’s
eyes, for now two of Shayne’s men—
Dutch Brucker and Sailor Dunn—stood in
the doorway with their hands on their
guns. Jim Hatfield saw the pattern.
Shayne did want the woman, and he
thought that he might have her if Robusto
could be done away with, and he wanted
the man killed. :
, But if Robusto was frozen by fear, Ben
Tyson was not. He pulled a shotgun from
beneath the counter and leveled it at
Shayne.
“Don’t,”
Shayne!”
Shayne stared at him. “Well, I'll be
®*damned!” he exclaimed. “Here’s another
poor fool with an eye on the widow! A
he said. “Don’t touch her,
pipsqueak like you, Tyson!” He was silent
a moment, eying the merchant’s shotgun
and the determined look in the man’s eyes.
Then he drawled, “Dutch, can you plug
him before he fills me with buckshot?”
“T’ve got him beaded,” Brucker said.
“My gun’s cocked.”
Hatfield noticed two dhitigs Shayne was
edging toward the woman, intending to
grab her as a shield, and Tyson, not as
easily cowed as Robusto, was aware of
what Shayne was up to and would shoot
him down in spite of Dutch Brucker’s
cocked gun. Tyson was as close to death
as a man could be, and dead he would
be of no use to the Rangers. Because of
the woman, sence saw his mission jeo-
pardized.
He said,
play!”
He stopped forward, pulled Lanya away
from Shayne.
The outlaw chief scowled at him.
“What's the idea, Dolan?” he demanded.
“Have you got ideas about her, too?”
“That’s enough of this fool
“T don’t likesto see men killed because.
of her,’ Hatfield said harshly.
among them.”
“You
HAT wasn’t wholly the truth. He
cared only about saving Ben Tyson:
Shayne’s death would be another matter.
It would serve the best interests of law
and order. But Hatfield had to stay in
the man’s good graces, at least for a while
longer.
“Tyson’s not fooling, Major,” he warned.
“He'll kill you, sure.”
Shayne thought it over, then muttered,
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
He stalked from the store, back to the
- barroom.
Lanya drew away from Hatfield’s grip.
She was pale, and breathing hard. She
looked at Ben Tyson who, now that the
danger was passed, was badly shaken.
“It was a foolish thing to do, Ben,” she
said.
me.” She glanced at Hatfield, and said,
less warmly, “I’m grateful to you too,
Dolan. It’s odd that you and Ben had the
courage to take my part, when the man
“But I appreciate your defending
ne ee ere Snow eS am
0 : | TEXAS RANGERS
I pay to guard me lost his nerve.” She
turned away.
Robusto flushed darkly, then followed
her from the store in silence.
Dutch Brucker was alone in the door-
way now, his dark gaze on Hatfield, Tyson
put away his shotgun, then deposited in
the till the money he’d received from
Lanya. It was now or. never, the Lone
Wolf decided. He moved toward the coun-
ter, saying, “Give me a sack of makings,
friend.” Then, as Tyson went-to the case
where he kept his tobacco, Hatfield turned
his back toward Dutch Brucker and
reached in his pocket for some money.
He brought out the note with a handful
of coins and, hoping that Brucker
wouldn’t notice, lay the folded paper and
a half-dollar on the counter. Showing
nothing at all, Tyson picked up the note
and the coin. He got Hatfield’s change
from the till, at the same time furtively
letting the note drop to the floor behind
the counter, to be recovered later.
Hatfield turned with his tobacco sack
and papers, and realized that Brucker had
noticed nothing out of the way. The out-
law turned back into the barroom behind
the Ranger.
Shayne was at the bar, drinking ee
his bottle again. The other outlaws were
lined up, keeping the bartender busy.
Hatfield felt uneasy as he joined Shayne,
thinking that the man would make an
issue of what had happened in the other
room. But Shayne seemed to have for-
gotten it already.
“We'll let the boys have another round,
Tom,” he said, “then. we'll get some grub
. and clear out of here.” :
Later, buying some provisions, he
seemed to hold no grudge against Ben
Tyson, although he did ridicule the mer-
chant for, as he said, “Playing the hero
for the Forbes ~woman.” Tyson was wise
enough to take the ribbing with a smile.
They got the men out of the place fin-
ally, and bivouacked by the nearby creek
to eat. After the cold meal, they mounted:
and’ rode on, with Shayne setting.a fast —
pace. There was no loafing along the trail
as the two vaqueros had done when tak-
ing Hatfield south. Wher on the move,
Bucky Shayne was a man in a hurry.
They did not overtake Lanya Forbes
and Robusto O’Reilly on the way, so Hat-
field knew that they, too, were traveling
fast. He pondered the problem of the
woman as he rode with the outlaws, won- ©
dering if he was supposed to arrest her
as an accomplice of Shayne’s. She was
certainly involved with the outlaw crowd,
even if only in an indirect way. She ob-
tained the supplies for them, the supplies
that went to the Mexican bandit, Merardo,
as payment for the privilege of raiding
in Mexico which Merardo had granted
Shayne. Yes, she was involved and no
doubt she would eventually be taken into
custody. And it might fall to Jim Hat-
field’s lot to place her under arrest. He
would not relish the duty. |
Darkness came, and the band continued
to ride steadily toward the X Bar X
Ranch. But then, close to midnight,
Shayne swung off the road toward Carter
Styles’ ranch, telling Hatfield he had busi-
ness there.
Once they arrived at Styles’s head-
quarters, Shayne said, “Get some sleep,
boys. We won’t move on until morning.”
He told Dutch Brucker to take care
of his horse, and crossed to the ranch
house where Styles was waiting in the
doorway. The two of them went —
closed the door. =
ATFIELD was puzzled, wondering
what business the bandit could have
with a townsman turned back-country
rancher. He _ off-saddled Goldie, then
spread his bedroll. He rolled and lighted
a cigarette, lay there smoking while the
others bedded down. Sailor Dunn spread
his blankets close to where Hatfield lay.
Dunn had been friendly toward him ever”
since Hatfield had refused to take up with
Rita. Now Hatfield decided to trade on
that friendliness.
He said, “Sailor, what’s this Carter
- Styles?” He kept his voice low.
“The brains behind this outfit,” Dunn _
said. “He gets a cut out of every job —
we pull. ‘The loot is always divided-im
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH
halfhalf for Shayne and Styles and half
for the rest of us.’
“T don’t get it. Why does Shayne need
Style’s brains?”
“Styles sets up the jobs,’ Dunn said.
“He made the first deal with Merardo, too.
And he contracts for the supplies Shayne
delivers to that bandido. To keep himself
in the clear, he has the stuff freighted to
the X BAR X Ranch. Robusto takes them
over there. If_the law should find ‘out
that guns are being run across the Rio
Grande, Styles will be in the clear, be-
cause of the way he works it. He’s smart
all right.
over in New Mexico and—”
“How does the Forbes woman fit into
ee a
“Styles bes a hold on her.”
“What kind of a hold, Sailor?”
“Well, Styles used to be a tinhorn gam-
bler back in San Antone and elsewhere,”
Dunn said. “And her husband was a big
gambler—and a big loser. Styles held a
lot of Sam Forbes’s IOUs when the Ran-
gers killed him. *He’s making the widow
buy ‘em back by letting the supplies be
delivered to her ranch.”
Hatfield merely grunted in reply to
that, then lay thoughtful again. So’Lanya
was involved in this ugly business only
because she believed she should pay off.
her dead husband’s gambling debts. But
still she was guilty of aiding and abetting
the outlaws, and the Lone Wolf couldn’t
justify her actions. As for Carter Styles,
he also would have to be caught up when
the Ranger net closed on the Shayne
crowd.
CHAPTER VII
. Dutch Remembers Too Much
UCKY SHAYNE completed his
business with Carter Styles during
the night, for he roused his men in the
gray dawn. They crawled grumblingly
from their blankets to saddle their horses.
He once had us raid a bank ©
41
They rode out without presi fact: Shayne
telling them that they would let the
Widow Forbes feed them. They reached
X Bar X headquarters as the sun rose
over the mountains to the east,’ racketing
into the ranchyard and, dismounting,
headed for the cook shack.
“Hatfield noticed that the X Bar X va-
_queros were in no hurry to ride out on the
range this morning, and*it seemed to him
that they eyed the outlaws with grave
misgivings. But when the Ranger came
from the cook shack after breakfast, only
old Hernandez Gonzales and three others
remained. The four ranch hands kept
aloof from Shayne and his men, remain-
ing over by the corrals...
Robusto O’Reilly appeared at the patio
gate, a sullen look on his darkly hand-
some face. He remained in the gateway
until Shayne called to him,
crossed the yard reluctantly.
“Where are the mules, amigo?” Shayne
- asked.
“Out on the range,” Robusto replied.
“The vaqueros will bring them in.” ©
“Well, there’s no hurry,” Shayne told
him. “I’ve decided to loaf around Here a
couple days.”
Robusto’s face stiffened. “Thete is ok
“Take your
You aré not
ing here for you,’ he said.
supplies and clear out.
wanted at the X Bar X.”
Shayne laughed. “Let’s go look at the
stuff, eh, friend?”
Robusto swore in Spanish, but led the
way to the barn. He called to Gonzales,
telling him to send two vaqueros over to
give him a hand. Inside the barn, Robusto
put the two X Bar X men to work moving
a sizable stack of bagged grain. But the
sacks of corn and oats were only a cover
for what was stacked behind them—cases
of rifles, boxes of ammunition, kegs of
horse-shoes, cases of canned food.
Hatfield estimated that the value of the
ardo would indeed. be able to launch a
campaign, once the stuff was delivered to
him.
\
then he -™
9
supplies amounted to about five thousand ~
dollars, and that there were two hundred
_or more rifles stored there. General Mer-
- Se
alg a,
checking them against his list which, Hat-
_ field supposed, he had obtained from the
secretive. Carter Styles. When satisfied
with his check, Shayne nodded to Ro-
busto.
“Tt looks all right,” he said. “Now rll
have a talk with the widow.”
“Senora Forbes is not yet up,” Robusto
told him.
“Tll wake her.”
“No!”
-Shayne’s face hardened, and with the
black eye-patch and the great scar across
the right cheek it looked satanic. “Friend,
I grow weary of you,” he said. “If you’re
so stupid that you don’t know that I’m
boss here so long as I stay, you know
it how. And the woman is going to know
- it, too!”
He turned to leave the barn.
Robusto muttered another oath, then
bent and grabbed the long-bladed knife
from his boot. He was about to throw
himself upon the back of the unsuspecting
Shayne, no doubt to slit his throat, when
Hatfield grabbed him.
“Wait!” the Lone Wolf whispered. “The
time’s not ripe yet!”
He held the man in a viselike grip and
Shayne, still unaware of his danger, left
the barn. When Robusto finally got con-
trol of himself, he looked questioningly
at Hatfield.
“You mean. . .?”
“T’m with you. We won t let him force
himself on the senora.’
“You speak the truth, hombre?”
“You'll have to take my word,” Hat-
“Tl side you if he tries
anything. But don’t go off half-cocked
and kill now, for the others will only.
kill you.” He was silent a moment, study-
ing the man. He came to the conclusion
that if Robusto O’Reilly had any vir-
tue, is was that he was loyal to Lanya
Forbes. He added, ‘Tell old Hernandez
to call in the vaqueros and have them
stand by in case we have some trouble.
You savvy?”
- Robusto nodded jerkily.
-gers—”
to take care of him, Dolan!” _
$
ie; &
42 | TEXAS RANGERS
Shayne took a paper from his pocket.
and made a hasty inventory of the stores, -
NE of the x Bar x vaquieros came
‘into the ranchyard at a gallop as
they stepped from the barn. He jerked
his mount to a sliding halt, dropped from
saddle, ran to Hernandez Gonzales, agus
ing eicited Spanish.
Shayne had halted midway across the
yard to stare at him. The other outlaws,
loafing in the shade of the cookshack and
the bunkhouse, also watched. “Robusto
headed for the vaquero and Gonzales.
“What’s wrong?” he called.
Gonzales ‘shrugged. “It is only that a
lawman is riding this way,” he said.
It was as though a bombshell had ex-
ploded. A stunned silence blanketed the
men about the ranchyard. Then Shayne
muttered an obscene oath, and demanded,
“What is this lawman—a Ranger scouting
the trail for others following him?”
Gonzales shook his head. “Diego says
that there’s nobody behind him. The man
is Sheriff Ward, from Charco Wells.”
Shayne turned his one-eyed gaze on the
man posing as Tall Tom Dolan. “He’s on
your trail,” he said accusingly. “You were
the last man to ride down this way. Ward’s
a damned bloodhound on a irail. If he
should slip up on this place and see us
here, then get back to report to the Ran-
He swore again. “It’s up to you
Hatfield nodded. oy guess you Te. Sight,
Major.”
“And don’t let that soft streak of yours
get the best of you,’ Shayne said. “Re-
member, only dead men tell no tales.”
“Tll take care of him.”
. “Yeah, and I'll go along to see that you -
do!” Dutch Brucker spoke up, his dark
gaze on the Lone Wolf. oy objections,
Dolan?”
Hatfield stared back at him. He knew it
would appear suspicious to all of them if
he ‘turned down Brucker’s ofier, He
knew, too, that the man would either ride
with Ss or follow him, and it might work
out better if they rode together.
He said, ‘No objections, Dutch.” / |
“T’ll ride along, too,” Sailor Dunn put
in. ae |
Anger gripped Jim Hatfield, but he ©
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH | 43
choked it i
“Glad to have you,
Sailor,” he said, and went to mount
Goldie.
They rode with him, fic wacpicious
Dutch Brucker and the friendly Sailor
Dunn. They expected him to bushwhack
the lawman, and he must finda way of
deceiving them into thinking he would
do the job — to keep them from doing it.
He realized that he might be able to get
the drop on them, disarm them, place
them under arrest, then, after a talk with
the sheriff, turn them over to him. Or
he could take them out of the Big Bend
himself.
But neither plan suited him. If he
turned them over to Sheriff Ward, he ©
would be hard put to explain it when he
returned to the X Bar X Ranch without
them. Shayne and the other outlaws
would guess what he’d done. As for his
taking them to jail— Well, Captain Mc-
Dowell’s orders had said nothing about
his quitting the outlaw band once he’d
joined it. Evidently, his chief wanted him
to stay in the Big Bend until the gang
was rounded up. Also, there was Lanya
Forbes to consider. He had promised Ro-
busto O’Reilly that he would help protect
her from Bucky Shayné.
It was a tricky situation, and Hatfield
felt caught in a trap.
‘They rode through the V-shaped notch
in the hills, then through the rough coun-
try to the north. Topping a rocky ridge,
they saw a tiny moving speck far out along
the trace. They reined in, watching, know-
ing a rider was coming along at a walk.
Brucker spat, and said, “Well, there’s
your man, Dolan. An easy mark.”
_ Hatfield was surveying the vast stretch
of rock and brush. He said, “You two
wait here. I'll circle around and get be-.
hind him. That way, if he should get me,
you can get him.”
“Tl go with you,’ “Brocker said, ‘Sailor
can stay here.” : 7
Sailor Dunn said, “You stay with me,
like Tom says. That badge-toter is his
meat, and Tall Tom is the man to take
care of him. You're staying here, Dutch.”
Hatfield swung Goldie away from them, |
Tom Dolan, on orders,”
quartering down the ridge and avoiding
the road. When he looked back, Dunn and
Brucker had vanished among some bould-
ers overlooking the road.
HE LONE WOLF breathed easier 3
and the success of his hastily formed
plan now depended upon the “oncoming
lawman. He aimed toward a cluster of
rocks that would hide him from both the
sheriff and the two men on the ridge.
Leaving Goldie in some brush, well back
from the rocks, he went on afoot. He
drew one of his Colts as he concealed
himself among the great boulders. And
shortly he heard the clop-clopping of hoofs,
Peering from his hiding place, he saw
that Sheriff Ward was one of those peace
officers grown old in the service of law
and order. A genuine manhunter, a hater
of men like Tall Tom Dolan. A man with-
out fear. |
Hatfield stepped out behind him, and
said, “Put your hands on your saddle-
horn, Sheriff, and listen to me! It means
you life!”
A less experienced man might have
grabbed for his gun and wheeled his horse
about. But Ward, after a start, reined
in and put his hands on his pommel.
‘The Ranger said, “There are two outlaws
hiding on that ridge yonder, waiting to
gun you down, Ward. I’m Jim Hatfield .
of the Texas Rangers and—”
“The Lone Wolf!”
“Yeah — and I’m pretending to be Tall
Hatfield said terse-
ly. anes spoiling my game, friend. I
was sent out by the outlaw crowd to kill
you. I’m going to fire a shot, so you STOP
like your dying. Savvy?”
“A little.”
“Lay still for a half-hour, then head
back to Charco Wells,” Hatfield said.
_ And he fired a shot.
The sheriff's horse spooked, began to
buck, and when Ward dropped from its
back, he went down hard. He sprawled
out, lay motionless. Hatfield stepped
close, fired a shot into the ground. He
knelt and rolled Ward over onto his back.
“I’m taking your badge, Sheriff, as evi-
44 3 TEXAS RANGERS
- dence that you’re a dead man.”
“Hatfield, I feel like a darned fool.” :
“Better that than a dead man, as you
would be now if I was Tall Tom Dolan.”
Hatfield unpinned the badge, rose and
went to get Goldie. As he rode toward
the ridge, he saw Brucker and Dunn come
from the rocks there and head his way.
He lifted Goldie to a lope to head them
off, he met them at the bottom of the slope.
He reined in facing them and showed them
the badge.
“A present for Bucky = boys,”
he said.
Then he chilled, for Dutch ——— was
staring at him with a startled look of
recognition. The outlaw said, “Now I
know where I saw you before, hombre. It
was at San Antone and—”
He broke off, grabbed for his gun.
Hatfield drew, too, but Sailor Dunn’s
gun crashed simultaneously with Bruck-
er’s. There was a-scream from Brucker,
then he went all loose and pitched from
his horse. His shot had missed Hatfield
by a narrow margin, and now he was dead
because he’d probed too hard into his
memory. Sailor Dunn looked shaken. °
“The crazy galoot!” Dunn exclaimed.
“Why'd he try to kill you, Tom?”
Hatfield shook his head.
Dunn said worriedly, “This’ll make
trouble for me. Brucker had a_lot of
friends in the bunch. They'll fix me for
killing him!”
“No need to tell them that you killed
him,” Hatfield said.
we piston the sheriff put up a fight and
Brucker got killed in it.”
Sailor Dunn was greatly relieved. Rid
when Hatfield thanked him for saving his
life, he looked pleased. They dismounted,
lifted Brucker’s body, and placed it across
the saddle of his horse, tying it in place
with his lariat. Dunn asked what they
‘should do about the sheriff’s body.
Hatfield said, Dolan-fashion,
it for the buzzards.”
“They rode back toward the X Bar X
Ranch, Sailor Dunn leading the horse
beevine Dutch Brucker’s sees
“Leave
“They'll believe it if
COUPLE of Hrucker’ s friends with
the group at ranch headquarters
were bitter about his death, but accepted
the word of Sailor Dunn and “Tall Tom
Dolan” that the outlaw had been killed
in a gun-fight with the sheriff. They took ©
the body away to bury it.
The X Bar X vaqueros had res in
a band of thirty wild-looking mules and
were holding the critters on a flat. out
behind the barn. The outlaws showed nea
inclination to rig the mules with pack-
saddles, and Bucky Shayne was not in
evidence.
Robusto O’Reilly was sitting in the door-
way of the bunkhouse, holding his head in
his hands, and Hatfield saw that he had
been eon whipped.
“Shayne?” the Lone Wolf aalecd.
Robusto swore lurid Spanish oaths.
“Where's he now?” Hatfield asked.
the house?”
“Yes. And his men have erders to shoot
me if I go there.”
“T’ll go in your place,” Hatfield said.
“Did you tell old Hernandez to have the
vaqueros ready for oa
“Si. And they are ready.”
“Good. But don’t let them start anything
“Tn
unless I can’t handle Shayne.”
Robusto nodded. He was a sick looking
man.
Hatfield crossed the yard, and none of
the outlaws tried to stop him. He had
entered the patio and crossed it to the
gallery when he heard angry voices from
Lanya Forbes’s office. He opened the door,
stepped inside. She was holding Shayne
at bay with a small revolver held steadily
on his middle.
CHAPTER VIII
Kill — or Die Trying! |
ATFIELD closed the door, stood
with his shoulders to it. He took
out makings and shook some tobacco into
a paper, = at Bucky Shayne. ~
ko
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH __ a AS
“The lady doesn’t seem romantically
inclined, Major,” he said. “Or is it that
your manly beauty doesn’t appeal to her?”
- Shayne’s scarred, one-eyed face was
ugly. “She needs a little taming, that’s
all,” he said savagely. “And damn it, ’ve
made up my mind to stay here until I
do the taming!”
“What about getting those supplies to
Merardo?”
“They'll keep.”
“The General may be annoyed.”
Shayne cursed General Merardo. He
A TALL TEXAS TALE
Brucker got killed. Some of the boys are
digging his grave now.”
Shayne was untouched. ‘“Brucker’s
kind are easy to find,” he said, and came
to the door.
| Hatfield stepped aside. — — e
Shayne opened the door, then looked
at Lanya who still had him covered with -
her revolver. He said, “Dolan, get that
gun away from her. That’s an order.”
He went out, closing the door, without
waiting for a reply.
Hatfield went to a window, wanting to —
BIGGER AND BETTER
“Texas is bigger and better than any place in the world, and any-
&
oF one } f tie big man stood on the seat of his buckboard and bellowed,
2
where. ~
thing in it is bigger and better than they got anywheres: else!”
A crowd gathered, and they asked h’m‘about women and horses
and cabbages and kings, and the big man readily admitted that Texas
had them all and of a size that could not even be approached else-
A little man in a stovepipe hat piped up: “The only thing you’ve
~ convinced me that Texas has that’s bigger and better than anything of its kind else-’
where—is liars. So how can I bel’eve any of the other th’ ngs vo
vee said?”
“Why, that’s easy,” replied the big one without pause, “if you'll just keep in mind
the fact that a Texan never tells lies about anythng but the pure truth. Can you :
deny that, my friend?”
The man in the stovepipe hat looked a bit bewildered and at last had to shake his
head sadly, knowing he’d got caught in his own trap.
kept looking at Lanya Forbes, and seemed
to be considering what his chances would
be if he jumped her.
Hatfield told him. He said, “I’m betting
she'll shoot, and she’l] hit you, too, Major.”
Shayne thought that over, then said,
“Yes, it’s a possibility.” He got his temper
under control, and managed a lopsided
grin. ‘Well, I can wait.” He moved back
a couple steps. “Maybe you'll have better
luck with her.
eh? To try ‘your luck?”
Hatfield lighted a match with his thumb
nail, held the flame to his cigarette.
“What about that sheriff?” Shayne
asked.
“He won't bother us any,” Hatfield told
him. “But there was shooting, and Dutch |
f
om
That’s why you're here,
make sure that the bandit chief did not
eavesdrop at the door.
Shavne leaving the patio, he turned and
studied Lanya Forbes.
cigarette, saying nothing. She _ stood
backed against her desk, the gun still in
her hand but now pointed downward.
Her face was pale, and there was a trapped
look in her eyes.
Hatfield said, “You don’t need to fear
me. I’m not going to try to disarm you.”
His voice was gentler than Tall Tom Do-
lan’s could have been. —
She went to pieces then, her shoulder’ |
drooping and tears —o in her eyes.
She said chokingly, “Why won’t he leave
me alone? I’m not like men think. Just
because I’m a widow and alone, every-
e ;
?
When he saw |
He puffed on his —
_ ten others.
1”?
of easy virtue, And I’m not, I tell you!
“T know, Mrs. Forbes.”
“But that horrible man—”’
“It doesn’t matter to him what ict of
a woman you are,” Hatfield told her.
“Good or bad, it doesn’t matter — so long
as he finds a woman desirable. He’s no
ordinary outlaw, Lanva. He’s not just a
cowboy gone wrong. He’s an unscrup-
ulous scoundrel, Bucky Shayne is. Now
and then you'll come upon men like him.
He figures he can have what he wants,
and he doesn’t care how he gets it. He
lives by no rules. You've reason to fear
him, I know. But I’ll do what I cen to
protect you. But I’m one against him and
Unless Robusto and the va-
queros side me.’
“Tt’s not only Shavne,” she said bitter-
ly. “It’s everybody. Kverybody thinks the
worst of me. Is it because I made myself
less than respectable by coming into the
Big Bend?”
“If you want to know, it’s Robusto.”
“But he’s only my bodyguard, just a
hired hand!”’ ;
Hatfield nodded. “I believe that,” he
told her. “But most people only believe
what they want to. Robusto is a big,
handsome fellow. He’s with you all the
time. They think he’s more to you than
just a hired hand. And it could be that
Robusto sometimes gives them a little rea-
son to believe it.”
“Yes, that must be it,” Lanya said. “But
when I settled here, I knew that the va-
queros weren’t enough to keep me safe.
Hernandez Gonzales told me about Ro-
busto. A brave man, a good man with
a gun, so Hernandez told me. So I sent
for him, gave him the job. He did well un-
til lately. But then Carter Styles settled
nearby, and Robusto failed to give me real
protection against him.”
“And Styles is a Poriner ef Shayne’s?”
“Yes.”
“You fear Styles too?”
~ANYA nodded. “For two reasons,”
she said huskily. “He holds several
- thousand dollars worth of IOUs signed by
46 | TEXAS RANGERS
body detache that I—well, that ’m a woman
my late husband. I hadn’t the cash to buy -
them, as I felt I should. After all, my
husband’ s signature—’ She was silent
a moment, a faraway look in her eyes.
She must have been remembering her
husband. Then she went on, “Styles first
insisted upon my taking him in as a part-
owner of the X Bar X. I refused and Ro-
busto backed me up. Next Styles came
with a proposition. He’d let me earn, as
he called it; the IOUs. I was to store
goods here that he was having freighted
in from some place in Missouri. He’d
made a business agreement with a band
of men wanted by the Rangers. He knew
I hate the Rangers. Robusto backed him
on that, and I gave in. I found out too late
that a part of each shipment that came
to the ranch was guns and ammunition.
It was too late for me to try and back out
then.”
“Did Styles keep his promise?”’
“Partly. He’s turned over .one IOU for
a thousand dollars.”
“No court would say that you should
pay your dead husband’s gambling debts.”
Lanya gave him a bitter look. “I want
nothing to do with the courts,” she said.
“A Texas court acquitted the Rangers who
murdered my husband.” —_—-
Hatfield said nothing to that, though he
was well aware that her husband’s death
had not been murder. The Rangers had
killed him in a gun-baitle, in the line of
duty. He felt sorry for her, and wished’
‘he were free to speak out and reveal that
at this very moment plans were being
carried out to end Maser Bucky Shayne’s
reign of terror.
She had “been tricked into letting the
_ supplies for the bandido, Merardo, be de-
livered and stored at her ranch. She had
not been told that guns and ammunition
were among the supplies, and she had
been helpless when she had discovered it.
Hatfield was secretly relieved to know —
that she was not a willing accomplice of
Shayne’s.
She said dully, “I don’t know where this
will all end for me. Robusto has lost his
nerve, and the vaqueros are too few to
fight ‘he outlaws. I don’t know if I have
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH 7 47
_the courage to kill Shayne if he tries to
force himself on me again. And I know
that Carter Styles is just waiting his
chance to take over the X Bar X Ranch.
Or if not he, then someone else will try
it.” She smiled bleakly. “They call me
the eee Wet but I’m just a frightened
woman.’
“You should have stayed where the law
could protect you.”
“The law — Texas Rangers!”
“You could be wrong about them,
Lanya.”
“That's a strange thing for an outlaw to.
say, Tom Dolan.”
He had almost forgot that he was pos-
ing as Dolan. He smiled thinly. “What I
meant was, that if you had your ranch
outside the wild country and anybody
‘bothered you—me for example—you could
appeal to the Rangers and they’d rid you
of me in a hurry. Don’t you see that?”
“All I can see is that my husband is
dead because of them,” she said. “And I’m
lost and lonely without him.”
“There'll be another man for you some
day. I’m sure of it
“No ee
He smiled again, and did not argue the
‘point with her. But she was young still,
and “incredibly lovely. She was made to
love and be loved, and somehow he knew
that sooner or later a man—a good man—
would come along and win her in spite of
her clinging to the memory of Sam Forbes.
He said, ‘“T’ll keep an eye on Shayne.
And try to keep him away from here.”
He opened the door, went out. Crossing
the patio, he heard a commotion in the
ranchyard. When he reached the patio
gate, he saw that Shayne and his outlaws
were disarming Robusto O’ neny and the
xX. Bar X vaqueros.
~The outlaw chief was i to
have his way here at the X Bar X Ranch,
and was making sure re would be no
interference.
There was a despairing look in Robus-
to’s blue eyes, and old Hernandez Gon-
zales was shaking with helpless rage. The
-vaqueros were sullen; but, without their —
guns, they were frightened, too. Bucky
ne ee Re ee ge
Shayne strutted back and forth, mak-
ing sure that his men didn’t miss a single
weapon when they disarmed the vaqueros.
Sailor Dunn and three other outlaws were
taking the guns from the X Bar X men,
dumping them into gunnysacks. The rest
of the outlaws = by with their guns
drawn and cocked.
HAYNE finally turned to Robusto,
bF and said, “Here’s the deal. Tell
Sefiora Forhes that she’s got to deal with
me or with Carter Styles. That dude
wants this ranch and, by damn, I'll see
that he gets it if she doesn’t ask me real
polite to keep it from him. Now get
going!”
‘Robusto had indeed lost his nerve He 3
walked toward the house like a man in
a daze. Shayne turned to Hatfield grin-
ning.
“You take’ that gun from “= Dolan?”
“No. I didn’t get a chance.”
“It was an order!”
“And if I’d carried it out,” the poe
Wolf said, “I’d probably be a dead man
now. fve a hunch that the senora is a
erack shot.” |
“Well, no matter,” Shayne said.
got another way to deal with her.”
_He turned away, shouting at the vaque-
ros to get out of his sight, then went into
the bunkhouse. Hatfield followed him,
found him drinking from a bottle. As Hat-
field had seen him do before, Shayne
poured the whisky down his throat as
though it were water.
He grinned at Hatfield. “I made a deal
last night with Carter Styles,” he said.
“He figures the X Bar X will some day
be the best ranch in the Big Bend, and
he wants it. He knew the woman will
never call in the Rangers, so he figures
it’s safe enough for him to take over—
through me.’
“So you're giving her no real choice,
eh?” ;
“Sure. Between me a Robusto.”
“She was never.
Shayne.”
- “So she told you, maybe?
~“T believe her.”
Shayne took another long pull at the
“we
Robusto’s woman,
48 | TEXAS RANGERS.
bottle.
voice was becoming thick. “I don’t believe
her,” he said. “She’s as wild a woman as
any we've got at the Roost. She just needs
to forget Robusto for a better man — and
I’m that better man.” He carried the bot-
tle to a bunk, stretched out. “She’s got
until dark to come to terms, Dolan.. And
maybe if I like her terms I'll let her keep
her ranch — with me as her partner.” »
Hatfield said nothing. He left the bunk-
house.
_ The vaqueros who had families were
gone to their houses, and the others, with
old Hernandez, were gathered in a deject-
ed group over by the corrals. The out-
laws had started a poker game at the
shady side of the bunkhouse, and those
not playing were watching. 7
Hatfield crossed the yard, ecierad the
patio. Robusto was coming from the gal-
lery. He looked deeper in despair than
before. The blood on his left temple had
clotted, but Hatfield suspected that the
gun-whipping he’d received had left him
dazed. The man shook his head.
“She will not talk to me,” he said.
will not let me inside.”
“She
“Shayne won't pull anything. until to-
night,” Hatfield said. “Be ready then.”’
“What can I do without my gun and my
knife? And the vaqueros —”’
“There are guns in the barn,” Hatfield
said. “Cases of them. When Shayne and
his men are at supper, you and the vaque-
ros arm yourselves. Tell Hernandez it’s
the only way. Shayne may want* the
woman, but there’s more to it than that
He’s figuring on turning the ranch over
to Carter Styles. So you and the crew
have got to fight. But don’t make yenr
play too soon. Savvy.” 7
“How will we know when the time is
right?”
“V’ll give you the signal.”
Robusto nodded, giving Hatfield a
searching look, “But I do not understand
why you do His Senor Dolan.”
: “You don’t need to understand it,” ' Hat-
field said. “Now clear out. I dan't want
any of the Shayne crowd to see us talk-
_ ing.”
i. eyes Isskee bleary, and his —
Robusto nodded, and left the Satis |
Hatfield stood there for a long time
after the man was gone. He took out mak-
ings and mechanically rolled a cigarette,
lost in thought. He had no orders to at-
tempt to smash Bucky Shayne. Captain
Bill McDowell didn’t expect that of him.
On the other hand, McDowell would ex-
pect him to do what he could to protect
Lanya Forbes. So he made his decision.
He would kill Bucky Shayne a
Or die trying!
~
CHAPTER IX
Battle in the Ranchyard
‘T WAS nearly full dark when Shayne
roused himself from drunken sleep.
He was in an ugly humor, and he shoved
one of his men out of his way when he left
-his bunk. The outlaws had brought their
poker game into the bunkhouse when. it
had begun to grow dark, and their loud
talk had awakened their leader. They —
had gone to the cook shack at sundown,
demanded that the X Bar X cook feed
them, but none had bothered to wake
Shayne so that he could eat. Now he stag-
gered from the bunkhouse and headed for
the cook shack.
Jim Hatfield followed him at ide. and
crossed the yard toward the big sole
house. He had no hope that Shayne was
suffering too greatly from his hangover
to think of molesting Lanya tonight. The
man was able to throw off the after-effects
‘of a heavy drunk in a short time. Hatfield
had noticed that during his stay at the
Roost. Shayne’s going to the cook shack
for a meal proved that he was not ioe
too badly.
Robusto was at the patio gate, in =the
shadows. He had a rifle in the crook of
his arm, and no doubt intended to use it
if Shayne came toward the house. Hat-
field saw the danger in that. A man whose
nerve was gone or had become wobbly —
was never much good with a gun. And
- nandez and two others.
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH oe 49
if Robusto missed his first shot, Shayne | 7 .
caught himself just in time.
would give him no chance to fire a second
time. | |
Keeping his voice low, Hatfield asked,
“Are the vaqueros armed again?”
Robusto spoke in a whisper, but even
so anger edged his voice. “No,” he said
bitterly. “Only three of them. Old Her-
The rest are
afraid. The men with families have shut
themselves up in their houses. And most
of the others say we will all die if we
fight the bandidos. But I will kill Shayne,
and with the three who armed themselves
I will fight his compadres. ©
Hatfield reached out to lay a hand on
Robusto’s arm. It was shaking violently.
“You’re too shaky,” he said. “You'll
not kill Shayne. He’ll kill you.”
“All the same, I’ll try to kill him.”
Hatfield shook his. head. “You leave
Shayne to me,” he said. “I'll be at the
house, and I'll try to disarm him and hold
him as a hostage. If I can’t pull that off,
there’ll be shooting. That will be the signal
for you and Hernandez and the other two
to fight. If I kill Shayne, I'l] join you, and.
we'll have a good chance of winning out.
If he kills me—well, you'll have a tough
time of it. You and the others place your-
selves. where you can .cover the bunk-
house door with your rifles. Then open
fire when the outlaws come out. Savvy?”
“IT don’t like it. I would do it my way.”
“You're sure you can shoot straight
ehough to kill Shayne with one shot?”
Robusto hesitated. “No, Iam not sure.”
“Then play it my way, friend.”
“Tf I could trust you, Senor Dolan. But
you are one of his men.”
Hatfield said sourly, “So. are you—or
you were. But you changed sides, didn’t
you?” He hardened his voice. “Now do
as I say. Get away from this gate. Lose
yourself in the shadows with the others.”
He turned away without ee to see
if the man obeyed. _-
There was lamplight behind ae cur-
tained windows of the ranch house office.
And when Hatfield knocked on the door,
Lanya called, “Who is at? in a ees
voice.
ee
Hatfield almost gave his own name,
“Dolan,” he
said. “I’m going to stay with you tonight.
Shayne—”
He needed say no more. He heard her
slide the bolt on the door. She swung
the door open, and said at once, ‘“He’s
coming here again?”
He stepped inside, closed the door. “You
can count on it,” he told her. “And I want
him to. ’'m going to jump him, Lanya.”
He didn’t bolt the door.
She held her small revolver, but turned
and laid it on the desk. When she faced
him again, her eyes were aglow.
“Tm grateful to you,” she said. “There’s
good in you, Tom Dolan.”
“Robusto is loyal to you,” he said. . “He
was waiting outside to kill Shayne. I
talked him out of it, not wanting to see Ro-
busto get killed, as he surely would: He’s
not as tough a man as he likes to think,
but he’s a good man.”
HE regarded him curiously. “Why. do
you talk to me of Robusto?”
He smiled, shrugged. “Maybe because
I see him as the way out of your troubles,”
he said. “I’m sort of a rough, tough hom-
bre to be playing Cupid, pat it seems to
me that if you had a husband you wouldn’t
be fair game for every man who takes a
fancy to you—or to your X Bar X Ranch.”
“T’ve been thinking the same thing since
you were here this afternoon.”
“You’re too young to go on being alone.”
“You think I should marry Robusto?”
“He’s in love with you.’
“But I have no such feeling for him,”
she said. “Tom Dolan, why don’t you
speak for yourself? Or daw t you find me
attractive?”
He stared at her, startled by her words.
“T think you’re the most desirable woman
I’ve ever known,” he told her. “But —
Well, I’m an outlaw. Such a man would
be no good to you.”
“l’d take a chance,” Lanya told him.
“T said there’s good in you.’
“But you have no feeling for me, no
more than for Robusto.”
“You’re wrong, Tom.”
sy:
es
ing her his _ protection.
thought herself in love with him at the
fine man,”
He. felt a rising encienent He had told
her the truth. She was the most desirable
woman he’d ever known. But he was the
Lone Wolf, and there was no place in his
life for a woman. It was not in him to
settle down to being a married man and a
rancher. Besides, he sensed that whatever
Lanya felt for him came only of his offer-
Perhaps she
moment, but it was likely she was mis-
taken. And he knew, too, that her feelings
would turn to hatred when, as he would
certainly have to do, he revealed that he
was a Texas Ranger.
~He shook his head.
for you, Lanya,” he said. “No more than
you say that Robusto is. You’ ve got to
understand that.”
She was smiling, not hurt = his winds.
“You're a strange man, Tom Dolan,” she |
said. “I think you want me. It’s in your
eyes. Why. do you refuse to admit it?”
“’m thinking of your own welfare.”
“And because of that you’d tell me to
find someone else?”
Soa: Ce
“But you can’t blame any man who
would risk as much as you are risking for
me,” she said. “You'll risk your life to
save me from Shayne.
would do so much.”
“7 can name one.”
She was amused. “Oh?”’
“Ben Tyson. Remember how he stood
up for you in his store?”
Her smile wavered. “Ben Tyson is a
she said. “But he’s not bold
enough. I know he’s in love with me, but
he’s as bashful as a schoolboy. He’s fright-
ened of me.’
“He wouldn’t be if you gave him some
encouragement.”
She shook her head. “I need a bold man,
a strong man.” She crossed to him, put
her hands on his shoulders. “A man like
you,” she added. after a long moment of
looking into his eyes. “Tom, forget you re
an outlaw. I —
ae broke off abruptly, a shocked look
nto “her eyes. She had let her
— ies from his shoulders to
“T’m not the man |
No other man
the woman he loved,
30 TEXAS RANGERS
his chest, and the fingers of her right
hand fumbled at his pocket. Alarm knifed
through Hatfield as he realized that she —
had felt the Ranger badge in the pocket.
She took the silver star-in-a-circle badge
out, stared at it with seeming horror.
“You!” she gasped. “A Ranger!”
“Lanya, listen to me—”
But she made him the target of all her’ -
hatred for the Rangers. She flung the
badge at him. It struck his chest, fell to
the floor. He stoopned to pick it up.
Lanya said wildly, “I’d rather have
Shayne here than you!”
She whirled to the door, jerked it open.
And screamed, “Shaynel”
VEN as she screamed, she shrank
back, and the man who had startled
‘her, who had been standing just outside
the door, stepped into the room. It was
Ben Tyson. He was carrying his shotgun,
and smiling wryly.
He closed the door, and said. “The door
wasn’t tightly closed: and just as I was.
about to knock I head my name men-
tioned. Naturally, I was curious. So I
eavesdropped.”
Neither Hatfield nor Lanya spoke.
Tyson went on, “Thanks for acting as
my proxy, Ranger. But a man should
always speak for himself.” He looked di-
rectly at Lanya. “It seems that this is the
time to do just that—and to stop being _
as bashful as a schoolboy. That’s how you
described me, wasn’t it, Lanya?”
“T'm sorry, Ben. I wouldn’t hurt you for
worlds.”
“You didn’ t hak me. In fact, you open-
ed my eyes.”
As Tyson paused, his gaze intent upon
it seemed to Jim
Hatfield that the man grew in stature. ©
Then he realized that Ben Tyson might
be slightly built and of only medium —
height, but that he had great character.
He had kept silent about how he felt
toward Lanya Forbes only because he
knew she could see no living man as a
mate because of the memory of her dead
husband. Lanya did not understand Ben
i
Fite ea eR eS pe Se BD RN ant ee eS
seser ns ee ee rt ee ee - > Ss ysen Deetes
SA aa ye c= ETE in a a RE ge
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH ti“‘s~S
The man said, “I came here tonight be-
cause I was worried about you, Lanya. I
thought you would need protection, even
though a Ranger was planted in that out-
law crowd. But I'll go a step further.
I’ve been in love with you since the first
day you entered my store, Lanya. Will
you marry me?”.
Lanya gasped. -
Hatfield smiled, but then said davals.
“Ben, watch it!”
He heard loud voices and pounding
boots in the patio. Lanya’s scream for
Shayne had been heard by some of the
outlaw crowd, and now the man was
coming with some of his men.
The door burst open, and Tyson leaped
aside just in time to avoid it slamming
into him. He pivoted, swinging up his
double-barreled shotgun. Hatfield drew -
one of his Colts. But Shayne and a half
dozen of his men crowded into the room,
their guns drawn and cocked.
Shayne’s one-eyed gaze darted from
Hatfield to Tyson, then to Lanya. “What’s
going on here, anyway?” he demanded.
“What's this storekeeper want?”
It seemed to Jim Hatfield that he had
never been closer to violent death. The
odds were too great, even with Ben Tyson
siding him. It might be that the merchant.
would never get a chance to cut loose
with his shotgun, for at least four of the
outlaws had him covered. All that had
saved Tyson so far was Bucky Shayne’s
curiosity. The outlaw chief needed to know
what was happening. :
He moved toward Lanya, “You yelled
for me. Why?”
“Tt was nothing,’ Lanya said, shrinking
from him. “Nothing at all.”
“What's Tyson want?”
“T—I don®t~know.”
Lanya was backed against the desk now,
and she reached behind her for the re-
volver that lay there. Shayne grabbed
cher by the arm, jerked her away from
the desk, threw her into an armchair.
“Talk!” he ordered. “And let it be the
truth!”
“He asked me to marry him.”
- Shayne sneered. “And because of hat
you yelled for me?” he mak and slapped
her hard across the face. “You think I be-
lieve that?” .
Hatfield started toward him.
don’t hit her again!” he said savagely.
“She’s upset, hysterical. She doesn’t know
ca
TShevhe, |
what she’s doing, or why she called for
you.”
Shayne swung about to Ge hin: “Pm
beginning to get mighty suspicious of you,
~ Dolan,” he said. “Just what are you doing
here? Trying to make a deal of your own
with her?” He looked at Lanya. “Is that
it? Has this hombre been seg some-
thing?” |
ANYA’S face was pale except for her
left cheek, which was red from
Shayne’s blow. She glanced at the Lone
Wolf; and he wondered if it occurred to.
her that now she could have her revenge
on the Texas Rangers. She had only to
tell Shayne what he was, if hatred of the
Rangers really obsessed her But Lanya
shook her head.
“He’ s not tried to pull anything with
me.’
. Hatfield breathed more easily. It was
possible that the situation might somehow
change so that there would be no gun play
while the odds against him were so great.
Lanya wasn’t going to give him away.
He said, “A lot of fuss about nothing.
Let’s go outside: Shayne.”
But Bucky Shayne wasn’t satisfied.
“Not until I get to the bottom of this,”
he said. He turned toward Ben Tyson.
“How'd you get in here without my men
seeing you?”
Tyson was a game one. He gave Shayne
a mocking smile. “I left my horse out a
- piece, came in on foot, from behind the
house. What are you worried about,
Shayne? I’m just a storekeeper, and
you're the famous Major Bucky Shayne
with a dozen men backing you up.” He
had .a two-handed grip on his shotgun,
and its twin muzzles were aimed at
Shayne..- “The lady told you the truth,”
he went on. “I asked her to marry me.
I’m still waiting for her answer.’
“Why’d she yell for me?”
ai
ee
: s
FAL App poate lt
52 a TEXAS RANGERS
“How should I know?”
Shayne cursed him. “You're pretty
smart—you think,” he said. He moved
around behind the chair in which Lanya
sat. To keep her from leaving it, he
grabbed her hair with his left hand. N ow,
you smart aleck,” he told. Tyson, “let’s
sep you empty that shotgun at me!”
The shotgun wavered. One of the out-
laws grabbed it from Tyson’s hands,
eased it off cock, flung it across the room.
He clubbed Tyson with his gun, the barrel
striking the merchant across the left cheek.
Tyson cried out, fell to his knees.
Shayne laughed. He released Lanya’s
hair after rumpling it. “I figured he
-wouldn’t pump scatter-shot into you,
baby,” he told her. ‘“What’s it matter
why you called for me? You wanted me
to come, and I’m here.” He turned to his
men. “Clear out,” he ordered.
Dolan with you.”
It was then that guns began to racket
in the ranchyard. At first four rifle shots
were all so close together they could not
have come from a single weapon, and it
flashed through Hatfield’s mind that Ro-
busto and the three vaqueros who had
armed themselves had opened fire on the
‘rest of Shayne’s men as a distraction.
They were trying to draw Shayne and the
outlaws with him from the house, away
from Lanya. More shots crashed, many
shots. Men shouted, cursed. One, no doubt
hit, screamed.
iene yelled, “Get out there, you fools!
Those vaqueros are armed again? |
The six men crowded through the door-
way. Outside, the guns had fallen silent.
Either Robusto and the three vaqueros
had been cut down, or had withdrawn.
There was still a great deal of shouting
but Hatfield thought it was being done
by the outlaws. Bucky Shayne had start-
ed to follow the others from the house,
but now“he halted and gestured.
“Get out there, Dolan!” he said. “What
are you waiting for?”
Hatfield turned toward the door. But
instead of leaving, he closed the door and
swung around to face Shayne.
Shayne backed away, halted between
“And take.
‘the chair in which Lanya sat and the desk.
Lanya had her wits about her. She leaped
from the chair and moved to the side of
the room so that Shayne could not again
use her as a shield. Ben Tyson picked ©
himself up, stood swaying. He looked
dazed. |
Shayne said. “So you’re crossing me, eh,
Dolan?” His face was ugly with rage and
hatred. ‘What do you aim to do? Kill me
and take over my bunch?” _
Hatfield saw no fear in Bucky Shayne.
The man was as devoid of fear as he was
of principles. Shayne’s gun was steady,
boring at the man he thought was Tom
Dolan. That Hatfield’s gun was aimed at
him seemed to bother him not at all. He
would start shooting in a moment, and the
Ranger had a feeling that both would die.
Unless he could somehow upset Shayne.
HERE was no longer any reason for
Hatfield to masquerade as Tall Tom
Dolan. Shayne would try to kill him now
no matter who the man thought him to be.
But the truth might jolt Shayne so that
the cocked gun in fiis hand would be less —
steady.
Hatfield said, “You should eueKs again.
I’m not out to fs Se over your wild bunch.
You’ve made a big mistake about me.
You see, Shayne, I’m a Texas Ranger.”
It was a jolt. But Shayne merely gave a
start. His gun did not waver. The room
was tautly silent. Lanya Forbes pressed
against the wall. Ben Tyson had stopped
swaying, stood motionless. The two men
with guns aimed at each other, lawman
and outlaw, were like statues for a mo-
ment, even their eyes unblinking.
Then the Lone Wolf said, “Drop your
gun, Shayne. You’re under arrest.”
“You think you can get away with this,
with my men outside?”
“Sure. I can handle them. Like you
once said, they’re a bunch of ignora-
muses.” |
“And you'll take me to Austin as a
prisoner?” :
| “That’s it,’ Hatfield said. “The way I
see it, friend, you’ve got a decision to
make. You can shoot it out with me now,
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH : 53
and the two of us will die. Or you can
submit to arrest and hope that your men
can keep me from taking you away from
here. What’s it to be, Shayne?”
The outlaw smiled in ugly fashion. “I'll
submit, and let my boys take care of you,
Ranger,” he said. He eased his‘ gun off
cock and threw it to the floor.
Ben Tyson got the gun, careful not to
get between Shayne and Hatfield’s six-
shooter. The merchant moved back, cov-
ering the outlaw with the gun.
Tyson said, “He’s playing it smart, Hat- |
field. His men will never let you take him
away from here. Unless you’ve got a way
to trick them.”
“T’ve got a way,” the Ranger said.
“Lanya, will you get some rope and some-
thing to gag him with?”
Lanya said, “Yes, of course,
ried out of the room. |
Hatfield said, “Ben, we’re going to tie
him up. And gag him so that he can’t tip
off his men that I’m a Ranger. Then I’m
going out there and as Tall Tom Dolan Ill
tell them Shayne says they’re to get those
supplies on the mules. And while they’ re
busy—”’
” and hur-
“Smart,” Shayne cut in. “But you won’t
get wae with it. There’ll be a slip-up.
They won’t leave without me. They’ll
come hunting me.”
_ Hatfield went on imperturbably, “And
while they’re busy loading that stuff for
General Merardo on the mules, I'll get
the X Bar X vaqueros together. Then—
He broke off as the shooting outside
began again.
Lanya returned from some other part
of the house. She carried a lariat, and
a scarf that could be used to gag Shayne.
The outlaw no-longer had himself under
control. He looked wildly about, seeking
a means of escape. Tyson took the lariat
from Lanya, then stepped behind Shayne.
“Put your hands behind you, Shayne,”
he ordered. |
Shayne muttered an oath, then pivoted
toward the desk. With one hand he
snatched Lanya’s little revolver, and with
the other he grabbed the lamp. ‘Whipping
about, he hurled the lamp at Hatfield. ‘The
z oe
so ee
Lone Wolf fired a shot at him as he ducked,
but missed. The lamp struck the door,
shattered explosively. The room was
plunged into inky darkness.
Shayne’s gun cracked, its muzzle flash
bright in the darkness. Then the man was.
in motion, and again a shot fired by Hat-
field missed. The next instant Shayne
was crashing through a window.
‘The Ranger made the mistake of run-
ning to the window through which the
man had disappeared. Then, rather than
risk gashing himself on the jagged glass,
_he turned toward the door.
As he plunged out onto the gallery, he
had a glimpse of Shayne running along it.
The fleeing man left the gallery, darted
past the well in the patio, scrambled over
the adobe wall like an agile monkey,
dropped from Hatfield’s sight.
Hatfield did not go to the wall, feeling
sure that Shayne would be waiting on the
other side to pick him off. He crossed the
patio to the gate. Guns were still racket-
ing in the ranchyard. There was enough
moonlight to show four men sprawled
lifelessly. He had the impression that
they were all outlaws.
AUSING in the gateway, he saw that
Shayne’s surviving men were firing
at the closed door of the barn. Robusto
and the vaqueros were forted up in there.
“Loop-holes had been cut in the heavy
-door, and two rifles returned the outlaws’
fire from them.
The outlaws were being stood off. They.
were firing from the cover of the bunk-
house and the cook shack, and Hatfield |
counted six guns in action on their side.
Bucky Shayne had brought a dozen men
with him to the X Bar X Ranch. Eleven,
not counting Hatfield. Dutch Brucker had
- been killed by Sailor Dunn. Four others
lay dead in the ranchyard. So the count
was right. Only six of the group were left
alive, and Bucky Shayne did not appear
now to give them a hand.
= Shayne was trying to make a getaway!
Hatfield hesitated a moment longer,
then made his decision. Shayne was the —
important one; the man who should be >
a TEXAS RANGERS
destroyed: But Robusto and the three
loyal vaqueros deserved a helping hand.
Hatfield decided to give it to them.
He waited for a lull in the shooting, then
shouted, ‘Listen, men! This is Tall Tom
Dolan, and I’ve got something to tell you!”
There was a sudden silence, with even
the guns in the barn stilled.
Then Sailor Dunn called, “Say it, Tom!”
“Shayne’s gone!” Hatfield yelled, and
hoped that this was the last time that he
would have to play the role of Tall Tom
Dolan. “He’s run out on us!”
Angry oaths came from the outlaws. ~_
Hatfield called, “I say we get out of
here! What’s the use of fighting when
even Shayne knows it’s a losing fight, and
wants no part of it?” .
There was silence again for a moment,
then Sailor Dunn yelled, “Let’s get out of
here!”
And the next instant the: six anlage
were running for their horses.
They rode away from the X Bar X
headquarters at a gallop.
But for the Lone Wolf the fight wasn’t
won. Bucky Shayne was still alive, and
Ranger Jim Hatfield wouldn’t have any
peace of mind until he hunted the man
down.
em ren
CHAPTER X _
-Death—for Law and Order
MONZALES, the X Bar X mayordomo,
opened the barn door for Hatfield,
then lighted a lantern. The old ranch boss
was unharmed except for a bloody bullet
crease in his left arm. One of the vaqueros
had not been hit at all. But another was
dead, and Robusto O’Reilly lay barely
conscious, with three bullet wounds in
him. Hatfield knelt beside him.
“You put up a good fight, amige,” he
said.
“The senora?”’
“She is unharmed.”
Robusto smiled. “There is one thing
worrying me, Sefior Dolan. oa :
The Lone Wolf said, “Jim Hatfield is
the name, Robusto. I'm a Texas Ranger.”
“Oh? Now I savvy you.”
“What’s this thing that’s worrying you?” |
“T once tried to have you killed. I am
sorry about that.”
Hatfield said, “Forget it. I have.” He
rose and isoked at old Hernandez. “Ben
Tyson is at the house. He knows a little
about doctoring. Maybe he can do some-
thing for Robusto.”
“Si.” Gonzales said. “I will get him.”
Hatfield- left the barn with him, then
went to saddle Goldie. He was ready to
mount when Gonzales came from the
house with Ben Tyson.
He said, “Ben, did you send my note to
Captain McDowell?”
Tyson nodded. ‘Within an hour after
you and Shayne’s crowd left my place,” he
said. “McDowell should have it by now.
Maybe he’s already on his way to the Big
Bend. He’ll lead his Rangers straight to
the outlaw hide-out, I imagine. Did Shayne
get away?” | :
“Yeah,” Hatfield said. “But I’m going
after him.” so
He mounted and rode from the ranch-
yard, following the road south. The flee-
ing outlaws were already lost in the dark-
ness, and he had an idea that they would
not stop until they reached the Roost. And
then they would not be safe. Captain Bill
McDowell and a company of Rangers
would swoop down on the hidden canyon
before too long. But of course the outlaws
knew nothing of that.
Hatfield didn’t stay on the road for
miles. He turned off it toward Carter
Styles’s ranch headquarters. Knowing
that Shayne had not entered the X Bar X
yard to get a mount after escaping over
the patio wall, he was sure that the out-
law had Leaded for Styles’s place where ©
he could obtain a horse. 3
He held Goldie to a walk as he ap-
proached the ranch buildings. The win-
dows of Styles’s small house glowed with
lamplight. Hatfield reined in and, in spite
of a growing impatience for the show-
down, waited to see what would happen.
a
~
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH _ . 55
He felt certain that: Shayne had arrived,
and was now telling his partner that the
outlaws’ visit to the X Bar X Ranch had
turned into a fiasco. He could imagine
Styles’s rage. The man would brand
Shayne a blunderer. They would prob-
ably argue for a time, then fear would
decide them on flight.
Unless Shayne had a great deal of loot
at the Roost, more than he wanted to lose,
awakened horses began a wild milling, and
their racket covered the sound of Goldie’s |
shod hoofs as Hatfield rode forward. __
“Shayne made his throw and led a re-
luctant brone from the corral. Hatfield -
dropped from saddle: Shayne lifted a sad-—
dle from the corral fence, turned toward
the horse. 2
“Shayne!” 5 |
The Lone Wolf’s voice was pitched low,
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they would not head for the canyon. By
now they would have figured out that
Hatfield’s joining the band had been for
the sole purpose of locating their hide-out
so that it could be raided by a force of
Rangers strong enough to round up the
entire outlaw band. They would be wary
of riding into a trap, for they could not
know how soon the Rangers would spring
the trap.
The door of the house opened, and a
man carrying a lighted lantern crossed to
the corral. It was Shayne. Hatfield
watched the outlaw set the lantern on the
- ground, take a lariat off a saddle on the
corral fence, and enter the pen. The
but a-sshout would not have startled Bucky
Shayne more. The outlaw dropped the
saddle, whirled in Hatfield’s direction. He
ripped out an oath and grabbed for the
six-shooter that he must have got from
Carter Styles. He began shooting as fast
as he could work hammer and trigger.
But for once Shayne was rattled, and his
shois were wild. The Ranger’s gun spoke
but ence. xe ee :
And Bucky Shayne cried out, staggered,
fell against the corral fence.
3 E DID not lose his gun, however, and
he lifted it and tried to aim carefully —
for what could only be his last shot. Be- —
Se
ee ; TEXAS RANGERS |
fore he could fire, Carter Styles came
«. from the house at a run with a gun in his
hand. With Shayne’s gun beading’ him
from the front and Styles’s from the left
side, the Lone Wolf showed his gun
' wizardry. He drove another shot into
Shayne, then fired twice at Styles and
targeted him before the man got out a
single shot. =
Styles was: dead before he hit the
ground, but Bucky Shayne was a harder
man to kill. The Lone Wolf’s second shot
had driven him to his knees. He was
braced on his left hand, and again he was
trying to bring his gun to bear.
“You’ve got me, Ranger,” he said thick-
ly. “But I’m taking you with me!”
Hatfield walked toward him, gun ready.
Shayne was having trouble getting the
big lawman in his sights, and before he
could fire, the Lone Wolf was close enough
to kick the weapon from his hand.
Bucky Shayne cursed him again, but in
~a feeble whisper, then fell forward onto
his face and did not move again.
There was no regret in Jim Hatfield.
The deaths of these two men would not
shatter his peace of mind. He turned and
mounted Goldie as tardily, four vaqueros
came from the bunkhousee
One called fearfully, “Senor Styles!”
They saw Shayne’s body lying in the
glow of the lantern and their dead patron
sprawled over by the house.
Hearing Goldie stamp a shod hoof, one
called, “Quien es? Quien es?”
Hatfield said, “This is a Texas Ranger.
Never mind.”
He turned away, and they did not try to
stop him. |
Reaching the road, he turned north to-
ward the X Bar X.' He would reassure
the people there, tell them they no longer
needed to fear Bucky Shayne and Carter
Styles. Then he would make his way back
to the Roost. Captain Bill McDowell and
his Rangers wouldn’t need his help to
round up the outlaw bunch in the hidden
canyon, but still he wanted to be on hand
at the end. Too, his chief would want to
know at the earliest moment that Bucky
Shayne had been dealt with. One thing
he meant to do—he would put in a good
word for Sailor Dunn to whom he owed
his life. |
A voice challenged from the shadows of
the X Bar X yard. v
It was Hernandez Gonzales, still stand-
ing guard. 3
Hatfield told him, “It’s over, amigo.
Shayne is dead. And Carter Styles.”
“Bueno.”
Hatfield rode on to the house, dis-
mounted at the gate. Ben Tyson was
alone in the office, taking it easy in an
armchair and smoking a cigar. He started
to rise, but Hatfield told him to remain
seated. 3 |
“T’m not staying, Ben,” he said. “I just
came back to tell you that Shayne won’t
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IT SMELLS GRAND
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(FOR THIS YOU'VE YEARNED!)
IT PACKS RIGHT
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NOW YOU HAVE EARNED
TRAIL OF THE DESERT WITCH 57
cause Lanya any more trouble. Nor will
Styles.”
“They’re dead?”
“That's it.”
“Well, it’s good riddance,’ Tyson said.
“Tf the rest of those outlaws are rounded
up, it will prove that the Big Bend can
-have law and order just like the rest of
Texas:
“You did what you could for Robusto?”
Tyson nodded. “He’ll be all right,” he
said.
with him. I hope he’s tough enough to
take what she has to tell him.”” The mer-
chant took a long puff on his cigar. Then
he said, “She’s going to do me the honor
of becoming Mrs. Tyson.”
“It’ll hit Robusto hard,” Hatfield said.
“He’s in love with her. But— Well, a man
gets over a thing like that just as he some-
times gets over a bullet wound. Congratu-
lations, Ben.”
“Thanks.” |
“Tll say so long now. I’m riding back
to the Roost.”
“Wait a few minutes. Lanya will want
to thank you.”
Hatfield smiled. “Maybe it will be easier
for her and for me if we don’t see each
other again,” he said, and turned to the
door.
HE Ranger was but midway through
the patio when Lanya called to him. |
He turned and she came hurrying to him.
‘“He’s rawhide-tough. Lanya is still.
She was. breathless when she faced hin.
But for the first time he saw her smiling.
He sensed her happiness.
“Ben told me about —— and Styles,”
she said. “I—
“And he told me that you said ‘ ‘yes’ to
him.”
“T’ve been foolish. But no longer... I
think I fell in love with Ben when he
asked me to marry him. Do you nies
that’s possible, Jim?”
“Sure it is.’
“T want to tell you that I’ve stopped
being foolish about the Texas Rangers,
too.” |
“Tm glad.” |
“And to prove it—” Lanya said. She
moved closer, lifted her hands to his face
and quickly kissed him. “You'll always |
be welcome here. Ben and I will always
be glad to see you.”
He nodded, said, “I'll stop by some
time,” and pire away.
He mounted Goldie and rode from: the
ranchyard, south along the dark road,.
south toward the hidden canyon. He hoped
that Robusto O’Reilly was rawhide-tough.
It was hard for a man to lose a woman
like Lanya Forbes who, no doubt, would
never again be called the Desert Witch.
He lifted his hand to his lips, and it seemed
that he could still-feel the earess of her
lips. Yes, it was hard to lose a woman like
that. .-
Hard even for the Lone Wolf. @ @ @
UNCLE WALTER
IT SMOKES SWEET
IT CANT BITE!
SIR WALTER RALEIGHS BLEND OF CHOICE KENTUCKY
BURLEYS IS EXTRA-AGED TO GUARD AGAINST
TONGUE BITE, AND SIR WALTER RALEIGH NEVER
LEAVES A SOGGY HEELIN YOUR PIPE, STAYS
_ UT TO THE LAST PUFF.
Slim landed a
powerful blow
\
ony
Nie 27
LIM CARTER whistled Lorena tune-
lessly as he picked up the pan of
bread dough and spun on a heel to carry
the dough to a shaded spot beneath the
, chuckwagon. Something caught across his
CXa e right ankle and he pitched forward, lost —
@e@ ®@ his balance and sprawled flat on his face
‘with the dough pan upside down on the
By GORDON D. gritty earth.
A loud raucous laugh jangled against
SHIRREFFS ) his ears. He did not have to look up to
fin had almost forgotten that a true Texas man.
didn't stop to count the odds. He made his own
BR | Si
‘Payne,
ONCE A TEXAN... . 7 59
know that Bart Cluskey was at his prac-
tical jokes again.
“What’s the matter, Sourdough? Ain’t -
you learned to héadic them big feet of
yourn yet?” Bart roared with laughter,
snaking in the rope which he’d set to un-
balance the sprawling cook.
Slim hunched back on his heels and
looked up at Bart. Bart was big all around,
tall and heavy. His buckskin shirt was
open down to his navel and the wiry black
hairs that covered his chest glistened with
sweat. His hard green eyes ran with tears
as he slapped his thighs and doubled
over in his mirth.
For a tense moment Slim was tempted
to get up and take one good crack at Bart
but he knew better. He had seen Joe
the ‘wrangler, get smashed to
bloody ruin by the big man.
“No hard feelin’s,” called Bart as he
swaggered over to the camp in a motte
of cottonwoods.
Slim got up and leaned against the side
of the wagon. Thank God the drive to
Dodge was almost over. He’d get paid off
and get a job cooking in the cowtown.
Bart’s jokes had increased to the point
_where Slim was tempted to drygulch him.
He scratched his long nose, ran a hand
over his sparse mustache and looked down
at his body. An old flour sack apron was
twisted almost twice about his thin mid-
dle. His knobby knees thrust themselves
out against his worn pants. He was a hell-
uva looking Texan. Maybe Kansas would
be better for him. His shoulders sagged.
Slim ate his supper off the tailgate of
the.chuckwagon and then picked up the
huge coffeepot. The boys would be ready
for their second cups by now. He crossed
to the motte.
Bart was leaning back against his bed-
roll and talking as usual. “Waal, we was
at Gettysburg, as I said. On Lee’s right.
The bluebellies were forted up on some
round hills there, and my colonel comes
to me. ‘Bart,’ he says—he allus called me
by my Christian name—‘Bart,’ he says,
‘can you-dig them Yankees out?’ ‘Yes,’
I says, ‘but I'll do it alone.’ I loads my En-_
field careful-like and snakes forward. In ~
one hour, mind you, I had seven more
notches on the butt of that old musket.
The regiment moves forward after that
and the colonel — me to sargint
on the spot.”
Slim circled the ring of punchers filling
the tin cups with the strong coffee. All
of them were veterans. But none except
Bart Cluskey had been with Hood’s Tex-
ans, the battering ram—the elite—of Lee’s
Army of Northern. Virginia. Hood’s Divi-
sion was composed pf the Fourth and Fifth
Texas and the Third Arkansas. And Bart
had been with them from Eltham’s Land-
ing on through to Appomattox.
“Waal, here’s my boy!” called Bart. He
grinned at Slim. “You was in the war
too, wasn’t you, Sourdough?”
Slim nodded as he filled Sam Gordon’s
cup. The trail boss looked up at him, and
there seemed to be a message in his sun-
faded eyes. Stick it out, Slim, they seemed
to say. Only a few more days.
“Who was you with, ee per
siniES Bart.
LIM straightened up and looked Bart -
in the eye. “I was with Devoe’s Par-
tisan Rangers,” he said quietly.
“Do tell,” said Bart politely, “A fightin’
outfit, I expect?”
Slim shrugged. “We were - Fort Lan-
caster all during the war. Had a few skir-
mishes with the Comanches. That’s all.”
To hell with him. Let him worry the bones
-all he liked.
Bart roared with laughter. “Comanch-
es! Half-naked savages with bows and
arrows!”
“Damned hard fighters,” said Yancy
Smith quietly, “And no quarter.”
Bart scowled. “I. didn’t ask you,
Yancy.” | .
Yancy yawned. “You aimin’ to make
somethin’ out o’ it, Cluskey?”
Tension settled about the campfire. Men
set down their cups and stared at the two.
Yancy was quiet but deadly with the sin-
gle Navy Colt he carried low on his thigh.
_ Bart wore two staghandled Colts in or-—
nate holsters. He was a gun tipper, hang-
ing his holsters on ping so that he might
a3 ning sky.
60 TEXAS RANGERS
fire through the open bottoms without |
drawing. Yancy’s eyes never wavered.
Bart grinned. “No offense, Yancy.’ The
tension eased off. Bart motioned to Slim
to fill his cup. He grinned up at Slim as
Slim poured. “Devoe’s Partisan Rangers, —
hey?”
“My youngest brother Ory was oh
Hood,” Slim said. :
“Maybe he was a swamper?”’ suggested
Bart. “I never knew him.”
An icy finger traced the length of Slim’s
spine. Ory and he had been close. He had
taught the kid how to ride and how to
shoot at their dad’s little spread along the
Trinity. Ory had learned fast and in no
time had become befter than Slim. He
had been a handsome laughing kid ween
he had gone to war with Hood.
“Well?” asked Cluskey.
“He died at Antietam,” said Slim. He
walked quickly to the chuckwagon. He
had to get chow ready for the men com-
ing in from the herd. The night herders
- were already saddling ¢heir horses. A
fork of lightning lanced across the eve-
The air was heavy. Might be
a storm was working up.
Sam Gordon limped up to the chuck-
wagon, the minie ball be still carried in
his right thigh giving him trouble in the
damp air. He placed a friendly hand on
Slim’s shoulder. “Don’t let him rile you,
Slim. He’s a loudmouth. I don’t want any
trouble on this drive. He killed a man on
the last drive for bristling up to him.”
“Yeah,” said Slim bitterly, “Lennie
Norwich—from my part of the country. A
nice kid.” |
Sam nodded. “Bart claims Lennie drew
on him. Bart was allus ridin’ Lennie like
he does you. None of us was there when
it happened. Watch. him, Slim. He’s or-
nery. You'll ride it out to Dodge without
makin’ trouble?”
Slim looked Sam in the eye. “I won't
promise that, Sam. I’m full up to here.”
Slim drew a long finger across his throat.
“T hate his guts. But I promise I won't
start nothing.” |
“Bueno! I’m sick of the sight of him
myself but he’s a good puncher. I needed
him. Him and his damned war stories.
You’d think he fought the whole damned
’ War hisself. Wonder we didn’t win with
Bart on our side.”
FTER Slim fed the herders he
crawled into his bedroll and lay for
a long time watching the hightning fork
across the skies.
All his life he had been the butt of
jokes because of his lean build and his
mournful face. He had enlisted with De-
voe’s Partisan Rangers because old man
Devoe had promised them glory in the
front of battle and Slim wanted to im-
press Susan Ordright. But Devoe was a
politician and had wangled assignment to
lonely, dusty Fort Lancaster. The Rangers
had lasted out the war there, gambling,
horseracing and occasionally chasing a few
marauding Comanches. His one break had
come when Sibley had beaten the drums
throughout Texas for his invasion of New
Mexico. But Slim had been down with
fever and so had missed that one chance
for glory in battle.
The death of Ory at Antietam had been
another bitter blow. It was then he had
found out Susan had been in love with
Ory.
He closed his eyes. Susan had always
liked Slim. Guess she still did. She had
gotten over Ory’s death enough to attend
a few dances with Slim but he had never
had the guts to ask her for her hand. He’d
bury himself in Dodge. To hell with Texas.
To hell with the Trinity. To hell with Bart
Cluskey.
The first drops of rain smacked against
Slim’s face. He yawned and rolled over
beneath the wagon. The huge drops pelted
the dry earth and a smell of dust hung
in the air. Thunder rumbled in the north
and the sky was lit with an eerie flickering
blue. 7
The rain ae beat down in a mad
tattoo, splashing under the wagon. The
cookfire hissed out and the canvas top of
the wagon flopped wildly. Slim felt for his
pipe. Someone shouted over at the camp.
He raised himself and stared through the
pouring rain. The voice was urgent. Men
2
ONCE A TEXAN . 61
shouted at sk other. A slickered figure
ran through the rain. “Slim! Hey, Slim!”
‘It was Yancy Smith. “The herd is run-
nin’! Sam is afraid of a stampede! We
need every hand!”’
Slim threw aside his bedroll and pulled
on his boots. He clapped his hat on his
head and fumbled in his bedroll for his
gunbelt. He raised himself to buckle it on
and cursed luridly as his head hit-the
bottom of the wagon. He dragged his
poncho from his warbag and scrambled
into it on the run. He was half-soaked
from the driving rain before it covered
him. He snatched his saddle from the
~ back of the wagon and ran for the horse
herd. Joe Payne roped out his cayuse, a
blocky pinto. “Looks bad!” shouted Joe
above the storm, “Good luck, amigo!”
Slim kneed the pinto away from the
herd and lashed it toward the camp. Sam
-Gordon waved him on as the punchers
splattered off in the darkness. Slim peered
through the rain. In the distance he saw
pinpoints of light and faint reports car-
ried to him on the wind. The boys were
trying to mill the herd. In a few moments
they were up behind the slow running
steers.
The critters’ hides glistened wetly and
their heads tossed as they moved forward
ponderously. The boys balled up alongside
the herd, riding hard and throwing the
weight af ther ponies against the sides of
the steers. One of the boys cursed. His
pony had hit a prairie-dog hole and
thrown him. Yancy Smith swung out long
enough to drag the dismounted man up
behind him and pull out t from the running
herd.
OR AN hour Slim worked as he had
never worked in his life. Time and
time again the punchers drove in at the
herd, their sixguns sparkling in the dark-
ness as they tried to mill the stubborn
beasts. But the steers increased their pace.
Sheets of rain drove in on them. Thunder
erashed intermittently and the sky was
laced with weird light from the heavens.
A steer horn raked Slim’s left thigh. He
eould feel the blood trickling warmly
down ‘his leg and settling in —— bottom
of his left boot. Rain leaked beneath his
poncho and soaked him to the skin. His
sombrero disappeared in the darkness,
sailed from his head by a blast of icy
wind. His hair hung down wetly across his
eyes.
Hail clattered savagely and brought
blood from Slim’s battered flesh. On and
on the herd went, splashing across knee
deep streams that had been bone dry at
evening time. It was a hell of tossing
horns, bellowing steers, lashing rain and
how ine wind. Slim lost his sixgun in
the mess. He lashed at the steers with his
quirt and shouted until his voice gave out. _
Suddenly he found himself at the front
of the herd. His pinto was gouged by a
steer. He set off at a dead run across the
front of the pounding herd. Slim battled
the stubborn cayuse but it was no use.
He raked it with his spurs and pounded
its head with a fist, but the maddened 3
animal kept on its own way.
Slim looked back. The front of the herd
was a wavering row of racing steers, their
wicked horns glistening wetly in the light-
ning flashes. He was all alone. A shout
came above the how! of the storm. He
looked forward. A puncher was standing
beside his fallen cayuse. Slim swung the
pony with superhuman strength. He ham-
mered up beside the puncher. It was Bart
Cluskey. Bart timed himself and leaped
in.” He dragged at the reins. The pony
stopped.
“Get on behind!” diied. Slim. |
Bart’s eyes were wide with fright as
he reached up. A big hand clamped on
Slim’s right arm. Before Slim realized
what was happening he was dragged from
the saddle. Bart fought the maddened
pinto and swung up into the saddle. As
Slim got to his feet Bart’s right boot shot
out. It struck Slim’s jaw and he went down
again, the spur opening a gash along his
chin. Bart sank the iron deep into the
pinto’s flanks and raced off to one side of
the herd.
Slim got to his feet and ran through the
darkness. He could hear the pounding
hoofs closing in. He saw a dark line ahead ©
Bea
6z - ss TEXAS RANGERS
of him. It was a rushing stream. He
plunged into the water. He looked wildly
up and down the stream and then in des-
peration dived beneath an overhanging
bank.
In a moment the stream was filled with
a mass of panicked steers, smashing into
each other, bawling in their insensate
fury. Slim shrank back beneath the bank,
the icy water pouring up to his chin, the
bank shuddering with the pound of hoofs.
Mud splashed up against his face blinding
him. He went under and fought to the
surface. Prayers flowed from his lips. He
closed his eyes. The bank shuddered with
the pounding of stampeding hoofs and he
feared it would give way and he would
be buried under a ton of earth.
For what seemed hours he shrank be-
neath the bank as the herd poured over
it, churning the muddy water into froth.
Steers went down and died in the water,
mashed to a pulp beneath the sharp hoofs.
Suddenly it was all over. The last of the
herd pounded past and disappeared into
the lightning-shot night.
LIM DRAGGED himself from beneath
’ the bank. He dropped flat on the
bank. The rain had stopped. A watery
dawn was breaking in the east. Slim sat
for a long time with his head in his hands
and then got up. He limped doggedly to
the south. The boys would want chow.
_It was almost noon when Slim saw the
motte of cottonwoods. He had crossed an
area churned into muddy pulp by the
herd. Steer carcasses were but mounds
of bloody flesh trampled into the mud.
Smoke wavered up thinly from the motte.
Slim limped up to the first tree and leaned
against it. A dozen of the boys were
hunkered about a small fire. His chuck-
wagon was mashed flat in the mud. Frag-
ments of bedroll lay scattered about the
motte. Ponies stood with hung heads at
the edge of the camp. :
Sam Gordon stood up from the fire.
“We milled them all right, Slim. We
thought you were trampled. Get some cof- |
fee, hombre.”
- Slim limped un to the fire. Bart Chuskey
was squatted by the fire nursing a cup of ©
coffee. His pale green eyes studied Slim. —
Slim looked about. “Where’s Yancy?” he
asked dully.
“With the herd. Ebbetts Fisher won't ©
ride no more,” said Sam. 1
“The rest of the boys all right?”
“Beat up some but still ridin’.”
Slim looked at Bart. “You murdering
bastard,” he said quietly. “You dirty mur-
dering bastard.”
Bart set down his cup and stood up. -
He flexed his muscles. “What was that
you said?”
Slim came closer. “You heard me!”
“What’s all this?” asked Sam.
Slim never took his eyes from Bart.
“This coyote lost his cayuse. I stopped in
front of the herd to pick him up. He took
my cayuse and left me there.”
Bart’s hands slid down to his twin Colts.
Joe Payne slid his hand inside his shirt
and drew out a snub-nosed derringer.
‘Keep your hands away from them plow-
handles, Cluskey,”’ he said. Sam Gordon
stepped quickly behind Cluskey and
pulled his Colts from their holsters. He
looked at Slim. “You speakin’ the truth,
Shim?”
Slim nodded.
Sam_ stepped back.
Slim.”
Bart’s right fist smashed out but Slim
danced back. Bart’s left whistled past his
face. Slim poked out a long left arm and
drew blood from Bart’s beak of a nose.
Bart grinned and came on in. His right
thudded. over Slim’s heart. His left
smacked against Slim’s jaw and Slim sat
down hard. He shook his head. Bart
grinned. “Had enough, Sourdough?”
Slim got to his feet. Twice more he hit
the muddy ground. His mouth was full of ,;
blood. He got up doggedly and began to...
carry the fight, taking three blows to get in
one. His long reach kept Bart’s bull-like
rushes at bay but his ribcage ached from
the pounding of those big paws. He
speared out long blows that ripped up the
big man’s face. Bart came in again and
again with murder in his pale eyes. His
foot slipped in the mud at the instant Slim
‘It’s your fight,
ONCE A TEXAN . | 63
brought in a it sabi He went down and
lay still for a moment, his breath com-
ing hard in his chest. He looked at Sam
Gordon. “When I get up I'll kill him,” he
said thickly. “You goin’ to stop this?”
up and try, Bart. Slim is doin’ fine.”
For the first time that day Slim smiled.
As Bart got up he hit him with all his
strength in the belly and smashed a left
to the square jaw. Bart went down and
then got up. Jumping to one side he
_ snatched up a billet of wood and rushed at
Slim. Joe Pavne stuck out a foot and
Bart sprawled full length. Bart looked up
at Joe. “I’ll settle with you later.”
Joe grinned wickedly. “Much obliged
for the offer. But will you be able to,
amigo?”
From some ingknown source Slim felt
a surge of strength. His long lean body
was rawhide but -he had never been a
scrapper. Something had changed him.
He straightened Bart with a left and land-
ed a right that split Bart’s mouth open.
Blood streamed from the knuckles gashed
by Bart’s teeth. Bart shook his head. He
threw a looping right. Slim stepped in
and brought up an uppercut that jolted
the deliverer to his heels. Bart went back,
fell heavily and tried to get up. He shook
his head and lay there staring dazedly at
Slim. Slim stood over him.
“Give him the boot,” said Joe. _
Slim shook his head. “He was with
Hood,” he said—‘‘with my brother.”
“He’s a damned liar,” said Joe.
“never was with Hood. I saw him with
_ Quantrill’s Guerillas at the end of the war.
He knew that. That’s why he beat hell
out of me. To keep me quiet.”
A deadly quiet settled over the ring of
men. Sam Gordon looked at Bart..“That.
right, Cluskey?”
AM shook his head. “You get right
“He
Bart looked from one to another of the
men who had fought legally for the Con-
federacy. There was no pity there. Sam
cocked one of Bart’s staghandled Colts.
“That right, Cluskey? Talk, or by God Ill
cut you down with your own gun!”
A sickening hate welled up in Slim
as Bart nodded. He bent down and
dragged the puncher up by his shirt front.
His right smashed against Bart’s mouth.
“That’s for Lennie Norwich, guerilla.”
His left slashed against Bart’s right eye.
“That’s for Ory, my brother, who died at
Antietam.” He shoved the big man back
and hit him with all his strength. “And
that’s for Slim Carter, of Devoe’s Par-
tisan Rangers!” Bart went down... Slim
raised a boot but Sam shoved him back.
“That’s enough! He’s done, I tell you!”
Slim shoved him aside and picked up the
billet of wood Bart had gone after him
with. “T’'ll kill him,” he said thickly. Sam
swung the Colt skoesle Slim’s head and
Slim passed out into a darkness shot with —
pinwheels of light. |
When Slim came to he was bias with
his head propped against a saddle. The
boys were hunkered down watching him.
His jaw was swollen. Sam grinned down
at him. “Sorry, Slim. I want no murders
on this drive. Cluskey’s gone. If I see him
again I'll cut down on him for sure. No
hard feelin’s?”’
“No hard feelings,” said Slim as he got
up. “I’d best see if I can rustle up some
grub for you boys.”
“There goes a fightin’ Texas son-of-a-
gun if I ever seen one,’—someone said, as
Slim walked slowly to his ruined chuck-
wagon. Slim grinned and regretted it in-
stantly as his face ached like a sore tooth.
He looked to the south. He’d have to get
back to see Susan. He was through fool-
ing around. No real Texan would let a
woman put him off for long.
=
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TEXAS WESTERN
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2 os
z- % 2
“Give me your gun!” Jesse shouted
ixgun Stalemate
By JIM BREWER
With the son of his best
friend running wild,
Marshal Jesse Obler had a
rough decision to make
=
eee ee E kh ~ ee
lgess’’ JESSE OBLER had just
| finished his first round ofethe day,
and was standing in front of his office
smoking a cigarette when he saw Caleb
Goodwin come riding along the dusty
main street of Bootspur. He had been ex-
pecting the owner of the big Arrow Ranch
for the past three days, but the sight of the |
64
4
SIXGUN STALEMATE 65
gray-haired rancher now, sitting his horse
as though he were ruler of the entire West,-
aroused within him a feeling almost of
terror. He hurried into his office so that he
would not have to greet the rancher in
public.
The door of the marshal’s office opened,
and the rancher came in with the hearty,
confident smile of the successful man.
“Jess,” he said, “you look fit enough to
tangle with a grizzly.”
“Howdy, Caleb.” Jesse tried to keep his
voice free of emotion. He sat down behind
the scarred desk and pointed to a chair for
Caleb.
Caleb sat down and cheerfully began
discussing topics of the day, just as though
this were an ordinary visit. Then he began
to reminisce about the old days when they
had beer carefree cowboys without a care
between them. Finally, after he had gotten
Jesse into a responsive mood, he brought
up the object of his visit. _
“Jess,” he said easily, “I thought I’d ride
out to look at some graze this afternoon,
and I’d like to have Clay along with me.”
There it was. Jesse felt his heart go cold
within him. He shook his head. “I’m sor-
ry, Caleb, but I can’t do it this time.”
“Why not?” Jesse could sense the irrita-
tion rising in Caleb’s voice.
The marshal took a deep breath before
he answered. “Because this isn’t just an-
other scrape. Clay almost killed that cow-
boy, and I want him to learn that he can’t
go around letting loose his temper on other
people without paying the penalty, even
if he is your son.”
LAY had provoked a fight in his loud,
boorish way with Hank Higgins, a
cowboy from a neighboring ranch. The
puncher, thinking the fracas was over
after he had knocked the youth to the
ground, had turned his back on Clay. But
Clay, seething with rage and humiliation,
had struck him from behind with the near-
est object, a brass spittoon, and knocked
him unconscious. For three days Hank had
lain in a coma, and only this morning pad
regained his senses.
Caleb considered Jesse’s words for sev-—
eral moments. “Listen,” he said, “I’m pay-
ing all of Hank’s bills, and when he gets
well I'll see that he gets a better job than
he’s ever held before. Now, can’t we look
at this thing reasonably?”
But Jess was adamant. ‘Clay has com.
mitted a crime and he’s got to pay for it
Bootspur is a civilized town now, wit!
laws which I have to enforce. I can’t let
him go free just because he’s your son!”
“Damnation!” Caleb exploded. “Since
when has it been a crime for two men to
have a good old-fashioned fight?”
“This wasn’t a good old-fashioned fight. a
Jess tried to keep his voice down. “Clay
started it, then when he got knocked down
he wouldn’t get up. When Hank turned
away, he hit him from behind.” ,
Caleb sat looking at Jesse, his eyes slow-
ly getting colder. “Then you won't let
Clay out?” he asked.
Jesse felt uncomfortable beneath Hie
steady stare of his pardner. He had to make
Caleb understand what he was doing. “I
can’t,” he said quietly. “I’ve watched Clay
grow up just as though he were my son,
and I’ve watched you spoil him every day
of his life. If something isn’t done for him
damn soon, he’ll go completely to hell. I
think that six months in the county jail
will do him more good than aiden else
in the world.
“Don’t you understand, Caleb,” he was
almost. pleading now, “Pm doing this for |
you as well as Clay. es teach him
some discipline—”’
Caleb had been listening to Jesse with
a set look on his weather-beaten face.
Now he lifted a hand interrupting the
marshal.
“Thank you, Marshal, ” he said in a voice
devoid of feeling. “But I think that Clay
and I can get along without your help.”
He rose to his feet and left the small office
without another word.
Jesse watched the door slam and he
slowly let out his breath. He hadn’t seen
Caleb this angry in a long time. It took a
.lot to make Caleb angry, but when some-
one did, the rancher remembered it.
Jesse loved Caleb, as though the ranch-
er were his brother, and he wouldn’t have
averted his eyes.
66. : - WEXAS RANGERS
hurt him for the world. Once they’d
shared their last blanket together, and if
necessary he would gladly do it again. But
he realized that if someone didn’t stap -
Clay now, the boy would get into more
and more trouble until he ruined himself
and possibly Caleb in the process. Regard-
less of what his old pardner thought of
him, he had to see that Clay was punished
for what he had done.
Hank Higgins was recuperating at Doc
Slade’s house, and Jesse got to his feet and
started toward the medico’s frame dwell-
ing. He had just gone past the blacksmith
shop when he saw the door of the doctor’s
house open and Caleb come out.
Caleb started up the street toward him,
and as they passed each other he nodded
to the rancher. But Caleb ignored him and -
a small smile played briefly on his lips.
Suddenly Jesse suspected what Caleb
had done. He knocked at the door of the
Slade house and was admitted to the room
of the injured cowboy.
ANK HIGGINS lay in bed, a bandage
covering most of his head. His face
was white, but he smiled a greeting at the
marshal.
Jesse sat down on the chair beside the
bed. “How do you feel, Hank?” he asked.
“Great! Doc says I'll be up and around
in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s fine. I'll have to ask him how
soon youll be well enough to attend a
hearing.”
A frown passed over Hank’s face. “I’ve
been thinking about that,” he said. “It was
just an ordinary fight, and this might just
as easily have happened to Clay as it did
to me. I don’t think I'll press. charges
against him.”
Jesse looked at the cowboy until Hank
“You mean to tell me
you'd have hit him from behind with a
spittoon when he wasn’t looking? Hank, I
know you better than that!”
Hank said nothing.
“Look,” Jess continued, “Clay has been
a headache to me ever since he’s been old
enough to come into town and throw his
‘money around. Now I’ve got him where I
want him, and this is your chance to get
even with him, not only for yourself but
for everybody else who hates his guts.
With your help I can put him where his
father can’t do a thing for him. - What do
you say?”
“But...” Hank weakly waved his hands.
“T got Boling against Clay. We grew up
together. We’ve had lots of fights before
this one, only this time it got rough.
Why—” |
“Never mind!” Jesse interrupted. He
got to his feet and looked down at the cow-
boy. “Tell me, Hank, how much is Caleb
paying you for this?”
For a moment all Hank could do was
stare. Then: “What do you mean, Jess?”
Jesse laughed and turned away. “Forget
it. If I was in your place, I’d probably do
the same thing.”
“So long, Hank, and get well soon.”
Out on the street again, Jesse cursed.
It was obvious. Caleb had gone to see the
cowboy and paid him not to vress charges
against Clay. He was probably waiting at
the jail for him now, to make sure o his
son’s release.
He grinned ruefully as he ‘thought of
Caleb. In this woman-searce West, the
rancher’s friendship had been very impor-
tant to him. He had helped Caleb build
Arrow from a small two-by-four spread
to the great ranch that it was now. and
Caleb had helped him get and keep his job.
They had been through a lot together dur-
ing the twenty-five odd years they had
been pardners. 3
Caleb was waiting for him at the jail,
and the rancher was still angry. His eyes
held no warmth as he watched Jesse come
into the room.
“Marshal, if you’re: not going to press
charges against Clay, I wish you’d release
him.”
Jesse hated to do it, but he had no alter-
native. If Hank didn’t want to prosecute
Clay, there was nothing he could do but
let the boy go free.
“All right, Caleb, you outfoxed me this
time. But there had better not be a next
time, or I'll see that Clay pays if I have to
be judge and ‘jury myself!”
:
Jesse picked up a ring of keys and went
into the small cell block. When he reap-
peared he was followed by a grinning Clay
Goodwin. Jesse looked at his pardner, but
the rancher avoided his eyes. Caleb turned
and left the office without a word and his
son followed him.
Jesse went to the window and watched
them walk down the street. And a feeling
- of resentment toward Caleb began to kin-
dle in his breast. He had been trying to
help the rancher, but Caleb had made no
effort to understand. Instead, he had
grown angry. Hell, Clay was almost as
much his son as he was Caleb’s. He had
been best man at the wedding, gotten
drunk at the boy’s birth, and made all the
arrangements for the funeral of Clay’s
mother when Caleb had been too broken
up to do anything but mourn. He sat down,
trying to peer the bitterness from his
mind.
E CAME out of his reverie about an
hour later and realized that it was
time for him to make another round of the
saloons. He put on his stetson and started
down. the dusty main street. His first stop
was the Golden Hour Saloon and he found
_what he had expected to find there.
Clay Goodwin and some of his drinking
companions were celebrating his release.
Four of them sat at a small table, and a
- nearly empty bottle showed that they had
lost no time in getting into the spirit of
things.
Jesse nodded to the barkeeps and no-
_ticed the sudcen silence that descended
over Clay’s table. Then the boy’s voice
rose raucously through the room.
“There’s our big, brave marshal now!”
Jesse ignored the boy, but he felt every-
one in the barroom turn and stare at him.
One of Clay’s companions whispered
something to the youth.
“Don’t worry about him,” Clay con-
tinued loudly. “The old man is going to see
that he loses his job!”’
Jesse felt himself stiffen. So that was aE
Because he had tried to do his duty, Caleb
was going to use his influence and have
_.him replaced as marshal. He felt a hurt
SIXGUN STALEMATE SS
anger rise within him. ~
“Hey, Marshal!” Clay oot “What
are you going to do when the town quits
feeding you? Will you starve?”
There was a titter from the patrons of
the Golden Hour Saloon. Jesse turned to
look at Clay, and suddenly he was very
‘sick of Caleb and Clay and the whole
mess. He walked slowly to the table.
“Clay, Pm warning you just this once!
As long as I’m marshal of Bootspur, you
behave yourself! If I hear just one more
complaint about you, if. you step out of line
once more, I'll throw you in jail so fast it'll
make your head spin!” _
Jesse spun on his heel and started to
walk out of the saloon.
“That big blow don’t scare me—” Clay
began. —
Jesse swung hack and glared at Clay so
viciously the boy broke off his sentence.
Then he continued out the batwings.
Back in his office, he slumped miserably
into his chair. Caleb’s anger had taken a
narrow personal turn. For trying to send
Clay to the county jail, the rancher was |
going to take his job away from him. That
was all right, he told himself. He was get-
ting tired of his job and Bootspur anyway}
it was time to move on. Then he saw a pic-
ture of himself drifting along aimless
trails, staring into lonely campfires, trying
to forget the life he had known as Caleb’s
friend and pardner; and he shuddered in-
voluntarily.
As he brooded, day gave way into dusk
and dusk into dark. When he glanced out
the window he saw the islands of light
made by the windows of adjoining build-
ings. He half-heartedly got up and vanes
his own kerosene lamp.
Suddenly he heard the sound of run-
ning footsteps and then the door burst
open and Smoky Haynor, one of Caleb’s’
oldest cowhands, was facing him.
“Jess, you better come quick! That
damn kid is going to get in trouble again!”
Jesse grabbed his stetson and led the
way into the dark. As he ran along the
warm, dusty street, he cursed.
“Smoky, I’m going to send that ae.
bast to jail for as long as I can.’
» ' CaN St a j ; :
ft Raa ee vR ts ae Mee! cutee © We ae ae
A) aR a Ba
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68 TEXAS RANGERS
The swinging doors of the Golden Hour
Saloon .slammed open as he rushed
through them. He blinked against the
smoky, yellow light of the kerosene lan-
terns. He saw the crowd about the poker |
table and started pushing through them.
LAY stood by the poker table with a
drawn sixgun pointed at Stud Logan,
one of the house gamblers. Five cards lay
face up before the boy, and Stud had
stopped in the act of raking in a pot. He
stared calmly at Clay, his hands clutching
the money.
Stud Logan was one of the honest
\gamblers Jesse knew. An Easterner, he
had come west for his health. He didn’t
care about money, and, as his health was
improving, he went his way with a cheer-
ful smile happy to make his living from
the percentage he earned. He was a great
favorite in Bootspur because his games
were known to be honest.
“You dealt yourself cards from the bot-
tom of the deck!” Clay was saying in a
voice thick with drink.
“You’re seeing things, Clay,” Stud said.
lightly. He was trying to treat the mat-
ter as though it were a joke.
“You calling me a liar?” Clay demand-
ed. : :
At that moment Stud caught a glimpse
of Jesse pushing his way through the
_crowd. He leaned back in his chair.
“Why don’t you go home and tell your
father to take you into the woodshed,” he
said to Clay. “I think he must have been
too busy to do it once.’
Stud took his hands from the ible and
let them fall to his chair to push it back. It
might have been misinterpreted as a move
toward his gun. At any rate, Clay fired.
The gambler had half-risen to his feet.
He stopped in mid-movement and looked
with surprise at Clay. Then he collapsed
over the table, upsetting it. The body fell
to the floor and relaxed in death. And the
dead hands were empty!
A horrified silence descended over the
room as everyone stared at the dead gam-
bler. The circle of men about Clay deep-
‘ened as the others in the saloon came to
look. Jesse stepped ion between two on-
lookers and stood before the suddenly so-
ber boy. ve
Clay stared at J esse, terror stealing into
his face. “I had to do it, Marshal. He went
for his guns. It was either him or me!”
Jesse shook his head. “I saw it all, Clay!”
“Somebody tell him how it happened!”
Clay shrieked. He looked around at the
onlookers, and from the expressions on.
their faces saw how wrong he was. He
looked back at Jesse, much as a cornered
rat must look.
“Give me your gun, Clay!”
Terror widened Clay’s eyes. He made no
move to obey. |
“Give me your gun!” Jesse repeated. He
walked slowly toward the boy, his ae
outstretched.
Something in Clay broke. “I’m not going
to hang for this!” he shrieked. “It’s a
frameup!” The gun in his hand came up
and exploded.
Jesse saw the movement and dived for
the floor as a slug whined by his head.
Clay turned and ran for the door as the
crowd about them dispersed in a confused
tangle of hurrying bodies.
Jesse leaped to his feet and drew his
gun. “Stop, Clay!” he shouted. —
Clay wheeled and fired another shot at
Jesse which snarled harmlessly into the
ceiling. Jesse fired. He wanted to shoot the
youth in the thigh, to wound him and.
bring him down; but as he triggered Clay
whirled for another shot at the marshal.
The bullet caught the boy in the chest and.
he went down and lay still.
ESSE ran for the boy, but Smoky Hay-
nor was kneeling over him when Jesse
came to the body. The cowhand looked up
into the marshal’s eyes and shook his
head. | ,
“There’s hell to pay,” he said. ‘“He’s
dead. You got him right through the
heart!”
Jesse straightened as though struck “es a
lash. How would Caleb take this? He
knew the rancher well enough to know
what was going to happen next. :
He gave orders for the care of the body,
SIXGUN STALEMATE _ : 7 69
7 thes: went out onto ‘he dark sun porch.
- The batwing doors swung open behind
him and Smoky Haynor stood by his side.
“Jess,” the cowboy’s voice was worried,
“why don’t you take a fishing trip into the
mountains for a month or so?”
Jesse shook his head. “I did my duty and
I'll face the consequences. Will you go
out and tell Caleb what’s happened?”
“You’re crazy!” Smoky exploded impa-
tiently. “In a month we can talk some
sense into his head. Then we can let you
know and you can come back and things
will be the same again... .”
“Things will never be the same again,”
Jesse said, “they never are. And it’s been
my experience that you never solve any-
thing by running from it. It only comes up
to face you again. Caleb’ll never forgive
me for killing Clay, and my self-respect |
will never let me run as though I were
ashamed of what I did. You can tell him
il be waiting for him here if he wants
me.’
Smoky shook his head, “Tf that’s ‘ge
“way you want it, good luck.” He put his
hand on Jesse’s shoulder for a moment to
show him that he understood, then moved
off into the dusty darkness. Both men
knew that Caleb would be in to kill the
man who had shot his son as soon as he
heard the news..
_ Jesse went back to his office and began
putting his personal effects together. His
belongings were few and in a few minutes
he. had them in a small pile on his desk.
Then he lighted a cigarette and sat back
in his chair to wait.
It would take Smoky two hours to ride
out to Arrow, and Caleb two hours to
come in. Allowing an hour for leeway,
Caleb should be in Bootspur about dawn.
Curiously, Jesse’s mind was at peace.
He had made his decision and he knew it
was the only decision he could have made.
He sat now with the knowledge of what
was going to happen at dawn in the back
of his mind, and looked back over his rela-
tionship to Caleb with a sort of detached
interest. .
Little had they known some ieeuie
years ago when, pardners, they had drifted
into Bootspur, that it would end like this. |
Caleb, always ambitious, had been saving
his money, and, finding a spread that ap-
pealed to him, had borrowed money from
Jesse, pooled it with his own, and bought
the then small Arrow Ranch. He had of-
fered Jesse a partnership in the venture,
but the younger man, never one to like
that type of work, had declined. He had
been content to be marshal and be near
Caleb. Then Caleb had married, and now
ns,
Jesse sprang to his feet and paced cal
he was tired. Then he sank back into his
chair until he wearied of sitting. At times
the minutes seemed to crawl by in an
agony of slowness, at others, they seemed
to fly by. And in this fashion. pacing and
sitting, the night dieenatale flew and
crawled by.
As the first frail fingers of dawn began
to push against the night, Jesse went out
into the street. Far out on the gray prairie
his farsighted eyes discerned a movement
which he knew must be Caleb.
He leaned back against the building and.
rolled himself a smoke. As the cigarette
dissolved into delicious, fragrant lungfuls
of vapor, he watched the movement de-
velop into a horse and rider and that rider
into Caleb.
HE rosy dawn had won its battle
against night when Caleb rode by
Jesse without looking at him and hitch-
railed his horse in front of the Golden
Hour Saloon. The rancher dismounted and
unhurriedly slapped the dust from his
levis. Then he stepped into the center of
the street and began walking toward the
marshal.
Jesse threw away his cigarette and
stepped off the wooden sidewalk toward
his old pardner. The two men moved
toward each other until a distance of
about fifteen feet separated them, then
stopped.
Caleb stopped in a_half-crouch, his
hands poised over the butts of his guns.
Jesse smiled at him, but the rancher’s face
was expressionless. From the back of one
of the buildings a rooster crowed a greet-
8
70 | TEXAS RANGERS
ine 4 to the dawn, the sound loud in the
stillness of the morning. |
“When that rooster crows again?” Jesse
asked. :
Caleb nodded.
Jesse assumed a positing similar to-
Caleb’s and waited. As the seconds went
by, Jesse noted with surprise that he was
sweating in the coolness of the dawn. The
palms of his hands were moist, and beads
of perspiration stood out on his forehead.
Still they waited, and suddenly the rooster
crowed again, long and proudly.
Jesse’s hands swept toward-his guns as
he watched Caleb draw. He cleared leath-
er and aimed his gun at the swinging board
sign over the Golden Hour Saloon and
fired. At the same time he-heard the ex-
- plosion of Caleb’s guns.
Nothing happened. No blow like that of
a sledge hammer battered his body. He
looked down and saw where Caleb’s slugs
had dug up the dirt about halfway be-
- tween them. He glanced up at Caleb.
His pardner’s lips were curled in a snarl.
“What are you waiting for?” he shouted.
“Can’t you finish the job?”
And only then did Jesse understand.
Caleb, like himself, had come to die, not
to fight! Like two warriors of old they had
flung aside their shields and each was
_ waiting for the other to drive a lance into
his unprotected chest!
Jesse holstered his guns and turned
away, tears streaming unashamedly down
his cheeks. Now he could saddle his horse
and start down those aimless trails. Now
he had paid his debt. to Caleb, and he
could leave with a mind free of ponetne
except his memories.
Back in his office, he hurriedly threw
his belongings into a blanket and rolled
them up. He tied the ends together and
swept the room with a last glance to make
sure he had forgotten nothing.
N EMBARRASSED cough at the —
door startled him. He turned. Caleb,
looking very sheepish, stood just inside
the jamb. ,
“You goin’ somewhere?” he asked.
“Yeah. I don’t know just where, yet. I'll
drift around for a while.”
Jesse threw the blanket roll over his
shoulder and started for the door, but he
found Caleb in his path.
“Jess, ’'ve been a damn fool!” |
Jesse shrugged.. “If I'd been in your
place, I’d probably acted a hell of a lot
worse than you did.” |
“No, I want to explain,” Caleb went on.
“When my wife died she left me Clay, and
he became very precious to me. I made up
my mind that he would have everything I
never had and I gave it to him. Everyone .
tried to tell me I was spoiling him, but I —
wouldn’t listen. As the years went by, I
think now that even I knew he was spoiled
bad; but he was my son and I wouldn’t
. admit even to myself that he was bad.
“Then he got killed. I don’t hold it
against you, Jess, because you just pulled
the trigger. I killed him by bringing him
up the way I did!”
Emotion choked Caleb and he stopped
talking. Jesse realized what his pardner
was going through and his heart went out
to the rancher. He put his hand commiser-
atingly on his shoulder.
“Jess, Caleb looked into his eyes, “don’t
go! I ae your help to get over this now,
more than'I ever did.” :
Jesse felt a sudden warm glow kindle in-
side him. “Pard,” he said, emotion thicken-
ing his voice, “if you want my help, I'll
stay till the sun quits coming up!”
Caleb smiled his appreciation, and Jesse
felt very good. He threw down his blanket 7
roll.
“Come on, he said, grinning. “Let’s go
b]
wake the cook and get some breakfast.
A Nickel a Novel in Our Companion Magazine
FIVE WESTERN NOVELS
FIVE NOVELS EVERY ISSUE—25ce PER COPY AT ALL STANDS!
A ES See
SAGEBRUSH >
A Quiz Corral in Which a W esterner Answers 1 “Di
Readers’ Questions About the West 2 -W\-
Q.—I've heard there is ice in the Carlsbad pronounce their “r’s.”” Their saying “pahd-
Caverns in New Mexico that never melts, even nuh” for “partner” is probably how “podner”
when the summers get pretty hot. How come? got started. Cowboys with a Southern accent
—H.B.N. (Conn.). 7 still say it that way, while most of the rest
; of us Westerners say “pardner’’—even when
A.—There is no ice in Carlsbad Caverns, we've had schoolin’ enough to know it should
but their temperature does stay at about 50 be “partner.”
degrees, winter and summer. However, there
are perpetual ice caves in pretty hot lava Q.—Is there really a place called Deaf
country in New Mexico, California and Smith in Texas?—Smitty (Ohio).
Oregon. I don’t know how the ice got there
nor what keeps it from melting, but it doesn’t. A.—Not a town but a county, named after
a famous Texas Ranger and hero of the
Q.—Were the trail bosses on old Texas Texans fighting with Mexico.
cattle trails the owners of the longhorns they
had charge of ?—A.B.S. (Iowa). Q.— What kind of a flower is the sego lily?
—V.B. (Iind.).
A. Sometimes owners or part owners
drove their own cattle, but more often the A.—The sego lily, also called mariposa
trail bosses were working for wages. Many (butterfly) lily looks very much like a tulip
such “hired men on horseback,” entrusted except that its petals are thinner and its stalk
with cattle worth thousands of dollars, were more slender and pliant. Its commonest color
young cowboys still in their twenties, but no is a pale lemon-yellow, often tinted with
hired men in history were ever more faithful lavender, with brownish stamen and pistil,
to their trust. but this color varies to a bright copper hue
@—Is El Paso, Texas, the original El Paso in some sections. It is the state flower of
del Norte on the old Mexican trade route from Utah but also grows in many other Western
Mexico City to Santa Fé?—F.W.E. (Calif.). states, both in high mountains and on dry,
semi-desert plains.
A.—Not quite. The original El Paso del
Norte (Pass of the North) is Ciudad Juarez
in Mexico, just across the Rio Grande from
the present El] Paso, which was first called
Magoffinsville and later Franklin before tak- |
ing its present name. A.—You are. The javelina (hah-vay-LEE-
Q.—Do Western Cowboys really say “pod- nah) belongs to the swine family but is a
ner” for “partner” like we hear so much kid- S¢€Patate species native to the southwestern
ding about on the radio?—Maggie T. (N.Y.). United States, Mexico and parts of Central
| - and South America. Incidentally it is a
A.—Many of the first Texas cowboys were rough and downright dangerous critter to
southern born men who slurred or did not hunt. —S,. Omor Rarker
| 71 :
Q.—A friend says that javelinas or pec-
caries are just tame pigs gone wild, but I
claim they are a separate species of their
own. Who is right?
Vv
£
CHAPTER I
Haunting Memories
COULD hear him moving about in the
next room. He always did like noisy
spurs and wore them, whether he was out
riding or here in the house. I believe he
took them off only when he went to bed.
And it seemed to me that his great, secret
delight was to move endlessly around,
with his short, jerky strides making the
rowels tinkle and the chains jingle, the
whole of it a squeaking, faintly shrieking,
funereal sound.
I know I was jittery. The thing was
there strong in my mind again and I
couldn{t get it out and all I knew was the
evil persistence of it and that monotonous,
unending mourning of his spurs. Crushing
out my cigarette, I sat up in bed and put
my booted feet on the floor. I lifted my
hand to the black beard stubble on my
face and found it wet with the sweat
coursing down my cheeks.
The one girl who never lost faith
The prodding restlessness came over
me. I sat there a while; face in my hands,
fighting it, but, as usual of late, I didn’t
fight it very long. His spurs went on
sounding their lamenting song and the
restlessness changed to a wild, throat-clog-
ging panic and before I knew it, I’d belted
on my gun and slapped my stetson on my
head and was going out the door.
_ The first real awareness I had was his
voice behind me. I was going down the
steps from the house to the ranch yard
when he spoke. I thought it strange that I
had not heard him following me for his
spurs had been sounding, and now it came
to me that the strangeness I felt was the
dead, almost empty silence as he stood
there unmoving, his spurs unaccustom-
edly still. a
“Going out, Joey?” he asked.
I stopped. I wanted to turn but I held
x
in Joey Gilbert makes him remember
a thing dangerous to remember
-
=
XS
a novelet by
SPURS
74 SS “TEXAS RANGERS
myself from doing so. I kept staring at
the ground.
“Yeah,” I said: “I’m going in to town.
Any ehh tices Emmett?”
“No,” he murmured slowly. Without
turning, I could picture Emmett Squires
lifting that delicate hand to his chin and
rubbing it with his thumb. His large eyes
would be round and sad and a compas-
sionate little smile would keep tugging at
his fine mouth. That is tec I did-not want
to face him.
“You’re of age 1 now, 7, Joey. I no longer
have any legal claim over you. You’re
Joey Gilbert. The Bar G is yours. I used
to be your guardian but you’re grown up
now and if I had any objections, they
wouldn’t be much good, would they,
Joey?”
I didn’t know if I should feel angry or
ashamed. It was all there mixed up inside
me. The resentment and that other thing
—that long, never-ending remembrance.
“I’m getting fed up with your preach-
ing, Emmett,” I said, the irritation need-
ling me like a thorn. “I’ve listened to it
for years. One of these days I’m going to
make you understand I won’t take any
“more of it.”
His sigh was as soft as the fluttering
of a cottonwood leaf. “I’m only doing it
for your own good, Joey, boy.”
“You ve been doing it for my good for
years,” I flared. “Has it. brought any re-
sults?”
He must have moved for I heard his
Spurs jingle, a single, whining squeak, and
then that heavy, strange silence filled in
again. His voice, when it came, was unc-
tuous and sad.
“How can I make you understand,
Joey? You’ve been brooding again,
-haven’t you? You’ve been thinking about
it. You're always thinking about it. It’s
no good for you. It makes you-drink and
gly to every one. You
shouldn’t think about it all the time.”
I could feel that cold, clammy sweat
running down my chests again. The ici-
ness was there crawling up and down the
back of my neck. It was there hot and
torturing in my mind and I had to grit
aey?
my teeth at the memory of it.
“Maybe if you didn’t keep on mention-
- it to me, I could forget it, Emmett,”
I said through my teeth. “Maybe if you
didn’t keep throwing it at me, I’d start to
forget a little.”
“Throwing it at saue Me!” he said in a
horrified, hurt tone. “I only mention it
to you to try to straighten you out, Joey.
You know you’ve been getting worse
about it right along. You brood about it |
more and more as time goes by. It was a ©
long time ago. It should have been for-
gotten by now. I keep bringing it up be-
cause I see you’re letting it get too strong
a grip on you. Haven't I treated you right,
Joey? Haven’t I raised you up like my
own son? I’ve tried to be a father to you
for ten years, Joey. You’re like my own
son to me. I—TI just can’t stand by idly
and watch you go on like this!”
The shame got me good now. He hadn’t
had too pleasant a time with me. [’d given
him his share of grief. I’d helled around
plenty, trying to shake those evil memo-
ries, and all I’d succeeded in doing was
ieeiia hurt to him. Slowly, I turned
to face him, and I couldn’t keep my eyes
up, only down low on the ornate silver-
work on his fancy Mexican spurs.
“Tm sorry, Emmett,” I mumbled.
I could hear the smile in his voice.
“That’s all right, Joey. I understand, boy.
Go on into town. Only try to take it a
little easy, won’t you? Just a little
9
DIDN’T go to town. I went to Buck
Stroner’s instead. I guess I had it in my
mind to go there right along only I
tried fooling myself like I’d done many
times before—and always wound up at
Stroner’s.
His place lay in a small hollow among
the barren sand hills. It was an empty,
lonely, melancholy country with the wind ~
moving restlessly and mournfully over
the land and the red hills lying there in
dead uselessness.
Maybe because it was so solitary and
alone. I liked it so much. Maybe it was
because while I was there I felt a kinship ©
| with | its See desolation and ugly des-
titution. And then, Buck Stroner’s moon-
shine worked quicker than the whisky
sold in the bars.
It was about the time that the pleasant,
glowing fog was flirting with my mind
and the mellowing warmth lay there like
a solid lump in my stomach that I saw
the rider coming over the rise and down
the slope toward the three mud huts that
made up Stroner’s.
I had just stepped outside a moment to ~
get away from the dank, fetid smell of the
_inside and when I saw who the rider was
I stayed right there, waiting, a bit of ugly
premonition moving through me. He
reined in his grulla mare about ten feet
from me and sat a while in the kak, look-
ing steadily at me. I gave him the eye right
back and when he had enough of staring
at me, he swung slowly down from the
saddle.
He paused while he gave a ‘hitch to his
trouser belt and then he came toward me
with his rolling, bow-legged walk, his
head ducked down a little while he
watched me out of upraised eyes. I saw the
anger swirling in them. The reason for .
it was clear in my mind for it wasn’t the
first time like this with Dave Livingston
and probably wouldn’t be the last—until
some day I killed him or he killed me.
That brought a silent, roilng curse to my
mind.
He stopped when he was close enough
to touch me. At first, I thought it was only
my breath but now I noticed that he had
been drinking, too. That was what made
his small yellow eyes glitter so brightly.
_We were of a size, an inch over six
feet. He maybe outweighed me by twenty
pounds for his shoulders were wider and
his hips thicker while I ran entirely to
skinny boniness. He was in his middle
thirties whle I had just turned twenty-
two.
He fancied os silk shirts and was
wearing one now. His pearl-gray stetson
must have set him back a month’s wages.
He had a rather handsome face if you
didn’t give too much attention to his nose
- that was pushed slightly to one side. Al-
ways about him there was the strong offi
of cologne water and it was this, I guess,
that had killed. the whisky smell on his
breath at first.
“You got a hard'head on you, Joey?” he
began in his snarling, nasal twang. “Takes
quite a while for you to catch on to some-
thing, don’t it, kid? It’s got to be pounded
right through that thick skull of yours
before you understand it. Isn’ t that right,
Joey?”
That ugly anticipation had started stir-
ring in me. It was always like this. Any-
thing to come up that would take that old
remembrance away, even for a second,
anything to wipe it away ‘for a while.
“What is it this time, Dave?” I asked.
My fists were itching to clench.
He hooked his thumbs in his belt and
looked me up. and down with a sneering
arogance. “I’ve warned you about Mar-
got. Don’t say I haven’t, kid. I don’t know
how many times I’ve told you to quit play-—
ing around with her. Looks like words
are no good with you, Joey.”
“What has she told you now?”
Dave’s face had flamed to a violent,
apoplectic flush. “The way she talks she
even seems to like it.” He pounded his
chest. “She’s my girl. No man’s making a
fool out of me over my girl. You hear me,
kid?”
He could hear the disgust in my voice.
“IT haven’t seen Margot in two weeks,
Dave. When are you going to see throueks
her lies?”
His voice took on a hushed, cruel tone.
“You shouldn’t have said that, Joey,” he
said softly—too softly. “You shouldn't
have said that about Margot.”
COULD see the futility of words. He
had it too strong in him. That twisted,
needling jealousy was too much for him.
He could never see it in a sober, rational
way.
He had eorkie for the Bar G ever since >
Emmett Squires had taken it over for me
and then Margot LeClerc came between
me and Dave Livingston and rather than
argue with him all the time, I had given
him his time. Now that lay between us _
* Fur bei BN ,
$c) k eae eh ‘ YE AL ¥¢
tc SMM RA SUC RARER ACU (io oy oa
16 TEXAS RANGERS
on top of all the rest.
My disgust gave way to a driving hell-
-ishness. “Is that all you can do, Dave?
Talk? All the time talk?”
The words came out of him in a low,
fierce growl. “I’ll show you what I can
°c 3 asa
He swung a looping, lashing arm. I saw
it coming. I waited for it, then ducked
under it, coming up close to him, smash-
ing a fist into his middle. The breath
-whooshed out of him in a ragged gasp and
he went staggering back. I followed right
on top of him.
He swung that wild arm again, his face
twisted in a ferocious; snarling grimace.
This time I waited a moment too long and
I started to duck his fist got me along the
side of my head. The pain left me dazed.
My feet got twisted up and in each other’s
way and before I knew it the ground was
rushing up to hit my cheek.
Swittly, I rolled over on my back, try-
ing to shake the blinding pain out of my
eyes. Through the red haze, I could see
him coming at me, the sharp heels of his
boots aimed at my face. A hoarse cry of
panic tore out of my throat. Smashing
up with both my fists, I deflected that
lunge just in time, but not before one of
his spurs cut a stinging gash along my
cheek.
_ Up to now, it had just been the primal
lust for battle, nothing more. Now the hot,
vicious anger came piling down on me,
filling my brain with a red, unreasoning
rage.
He had gone sliding along the sand and
was just now starting to scramble to his
feet. I reached out, catching one of his
boots. I jerked hard. He gave a harsh,
startled ery and then he went toppling to
- the ground. I was on my knees beside
him. :
I hit him in the mouth as he lay on the
ground. He gave a choked curse of pain.
With his elbows he started to push himself
up and I hit him again. He went smash-
ing back on the sand, raising a small! dust
cloud about his shoulders.
This time he covered his face with his
hands as he started to rise. I smashed both
fists into his stomach. He turned green
with the pain of it and dropped his hands
away from his gasping, retching face. I
hit him in the mouth again.
“So you’d stomp me, would you?” I was
sobbing through seuched teeth. “So you'd
use your boots on me, would you? How
do you like this, Dave? And this? And
this?” |
He lay moaning on his eck his end
rocking from side to side under my blows.
There was no more fight in him, just a su-
pine limpness in his lank body. Gradually,
the sanity worked hack into me and I sank
back on my haunches, breathing heavily,
just beginning to feel of the burning pain |
in my knuckles.
I got up on my feet and went over and
leaned against the wall of one of the huts.
Dimly, I was aware that Buck Stroner
stood in his doorway, mutely watching.
After a while, Livingston struggled up
on his feet. He stood unsteadily for a
moment, dabbing at his cut and bleeding
face with a purple shirt sleeve, making
hoarse sounds of pain. He staggered over
to his grulla mare and when he had hold
of a stirrup he turned abruptly and faced
me. I did not miss the lethal menace in his _
tone.
“This doesn’t finish it, J oey, kid. This
doesn’t finish it a-tall. Ve
CHAPTER II
Death in the Cantina
AT DELMAS found me as I was rid-
ing aimlessly among the sterile sand
hills. She took me in tow and ‘brought
me to her place that lay on a long, narrow,
wind-swept mesa. The grass bowed sul-
lenly to the force of the wind and the
leaves of the cottonwood trees planted for
-shade around the buildings whispered
their insistent little secrets.
I must have slept for I opened my eyes
_and in my ears there was the faint, mourn-
ing soughing of the wind and the sibi-~
HAUNTED SPURS’ oR
lant Piatigeiog. of the cottonwood leaves
and the soft, oppressive warmth of the
room.
She must have heard me stirring for
the door opened almost instantly and Pat
Delmas came in. The room was half in
shadow and she stood in‘the dimness be-
side the door, out of the reach of the sharp
lance of sunlight piercing through the
window.
She was-a tall girl of about twenty.
The long, blue-black hair drawn in a se-
vere knot on the back of her neck showed
a touch of Indian ancestry, as did the
prominent cheekbones beneath: the hol-
lows of her large, soft eyes. Her skin,
darkened by the sun, was the hue of old
leather. Her mouth held the color of the
ocotillo blossom in bloom.
She was wearing a white cotton blouse
that was low enough to reveal the first
faint rise of her breasts and a divided
riding skirt with a fringed hem and small,
white-stitched riding boots.
She stood there silently, watching me,
and a vast flood of shame came crawling
down over me. My head pounded and my
eyes hurt and there seemed to be sand
in my throat. All this would not have
hurt half as much if Pat hadn’t been there
to see it.
I ran my hands over the beard stubble
on my face and it was then that I felt the
cloth patch on my cheek. She must have
put it there over the-cut I’d got in the
fight with Dave Livingston. The shame be-
came even stronger in me now.
~ I glanced at her but my eyes wouldn’t
hold and I buried my face in my hands
again. “Why don’t you leave me glone?”
I said to her. “Why do you have to keep
on picking me up and patching me up all
the time?” |
COULD hear the whisper of her com-
ing toward me. The warm scent of her
was there beside me; sitting close to me,
and then her cool hands touched mine.
“Why won't you tell me what it is,
Joey?” she said in her deep, throaty voice.
“Maybe if you told someone it would
help.”
I couldn’t stand the touch of her on —
my hands. I got up and went over to the
window and looked out among the titter-
ing cottonwoods and the long, flat streteh,
of the mesa.
“There you go bringing it up again,” I
said to her. “Why don’t you forget about
it for once?”
“You’re the one who should forget
about it.”
“Yeah,” I said bitterly. “Forget, That’s
a pretty easy word to say.”
~ I glanced at her. She was sitting with
her hands folded limply in her lap, her
head bowed. “I just want to help you,
Joey. You know that. I want to see you
happy. I want to hear you laugh. Won’t
you let me help you do that, Joey?”
“Do I have to tell you all over again?”
I said angrily. “You know I don’t like to
talk about it. Why do you keep chasing
after me? You know what I am. I’ll never
stop helling around. You want a man that
will settle down and help you raise a big
bunch of kids. I’m no good for that, Pat.
Can’t you find someone else?”
“I don’t want someone else.” There was
a slight catch in her voice. I looked at her
again and her head was bowed still more,
- only the tip of her nose and chin showing.
“I don’t even want you if that’s what
you're afraid of. I won’t tie you down if
that’s what scares you. I just want to see
you straightened out, Joey. That’s all.”
“T'm as straightened out as I’ll ever .
care to be,” I growled, turning to look out
the window again.
She came over beside me. Her fingers,
where they clutched my arm, dug in until
I could feel her nails. Looking at her, I
saw the tight, determined line of her
mouth, the purposeful, almost angry glit-
ter in her eyes.
“You're going to listen to me, Joey,” she
said tightly. “You're going to hear me
out. You’re going to tell me what I want
to know. Tell me what’s on your mind,
Joey. Tell me what it is that drives you
the way it does. It has to do with your
parents, doesn’t it, Joey?”
- That was all I needed. It had been
there, plaguing the back of my mind, and
78 | TEXAS RANGERS
now, with her words, the whole searing,
shattering memory was before me. I could
feel the cold sweat channeling down the
back of my neck.
“That’s what it is, isn’t it, Joey?” Pat
was asking. “You were all right until your
father and mother were killed ten years
ago. Everybody says so. You’ve taken
their deaths too hard. It’s just one of those
things. You shouldn’t Jet it dig at you the
way it has. I know it was awful, seeing
them killed before your eves, but that’s
all over now. That’s al! in the past, Joey.”
My face was drenched with sweat; it
was pouring off mv chin. Mv breath
choked in my throat. My brain ached with
the evil remembrance of it. Again I felt
the sharp pain and the agony of it.
I swept her away from me. She went
staggering across the room and fell across
the bed. She struggled up on her elbows.
her face lifted up to me, her eyes wide and
frightened. |
“So?” I shouted at her, the loudness of
my voice hurting my throat. “You know
all about it, don’t you? Everybody knows
all about it. They know why I drink. They
know why I brawl. They know why I’m a ~
no-good bum. I’m the only one that knows
what happened that night. Only me. You
hear me, Pat? Only I know what hap-
pened that night. I’m the only one that
knows why I drink and brawl. Is that good
enough for you? You can snoop all you
want but this is all you'll ever get out of
me. Do you hear, Pat?.. .”
HE trail winds down from the barren
red hills and then straightens out as it
cuts across the flat, level ground toward
. the town of Sandimas. I had just come out
of the hills and was riding along the trail
where it passed alongside the right bank
of Sandimas Creek when I ran into Mar-
got LeClerc.
I was not aware of her at first. Cotton-
woods grew in pale, whispering profusion
along the creek and the trail cut through
_ the trees, making a solemn, shade-patched
lane. The first I knew of Margot’s pres-
ence was the sudden clatter of hoofbeats
behind me and then her hail. |
Reining my sorrel around, I waited for
her. She came up on her Arabian gelding
that was all sleeked up and polished until
he shone like raw gold. She was riding
side-saddle, her legs curved demurely be-
neath the long black skirt of her riding
habit. A fluffy bit of white lace showed at
her throat and on her shining, blonde hair
she wore a small black hat. Above her, she
was holding a dainty little blue parasol.
She was attractive enough, even beauti-
ful, I guess. She took an almost fetish-like
care of her skin and it was always pale
and creamy. untouched by either the wind
or the sun. Her eyes were rather small but
a deep, azure blue and set wide apart in
her face. Her rather short-nose had an im-
pudent tilt to the tip. Her mouth was small
and well-shaped and she had touched it up
a little with rouge.
She was breathing a little fast from her
exertions 1s she reined in the Arabian.
“Hello,” .she said in a light, breathless
voice.
It had been three davs since my fight
with Dave Livingston but the memory of
it still lived with a grating vividness in my
mind. Seeing her like ths, made the re-
membrance doublv strong. I felt my hand
lifting unconsciously toward the livid scar
on my cheek.
“Tm kind of glad I’ve run into you,
Margot.” I said slowly.
She flashed a white, dazzling smile.
“How nice to hear you say that; Joey.
- You know, you practically never say
sweet things to me.”
The distaste was there very bitter in my
mouth. “I didn’t mean it as a compliment,”
I said. .I touched the scar on my cheek
again. “I suppose you heard about me and
Dave and our friendly little wrestling
match?”
A frown clouded her face. “How aw-
ful,” she whispered. She lifted intense,
brooding eyes to me. “Dave is so unbear-
ably jealous. I’ve tried to make it clear to
him time and again that I’m through with
him but he won’t have it that way. Did he |
huft you much, Joey?” |
The anger swept me uncontrollably.
“Damn your polite excuses, Margot,” I.
HAUNTED SPURS eS 79
shouted. “You know I’ve got no use for
you. Why do you keep egging Dave on?
Why do you keep on n telling him it’s me
for you?”
“But that’s the truth, Joey,” he said.
lower lip beginnng to jantbic. “Why can’t -
you be nice to me? T can’t help it if I feel
that way about you.”
I reached out, grasping her arm, squeez-
ing until she winced with pain. “Look,
Margot,” I said, that cold anger moving
stormily Srouzh me, “this business of you.
and Dave and me is going to come to no
good end. How have you got this thing tal-
lied? What’s in that pretty blonde head of
yours, Margot? Why do you keep throw-
ing yourself at me?. Is it because Bar G is
the biggest spread in these parts?”
“Joey!” she cried in a hurt tone. “How
can you say such things, Joey?”
“Ym just wondering,” I said. ‘““There’s a |
lot that I’d like to understand about you,
Margot. Once it used to be Emmett
- Squires with you but then I came of age
and Bar G belonged to me. Then you
switched to Dave Livingston. All at once
you ditched him and started throwing
yourself at me. Why? I’ve never encour-
“Did you get (that message? He’s
burned his blanket!’’
aged you, have I? I’ve never wanted any-
thing to do with you. Why have you eee
carrying on like this, Margot? heme s
HE cantina of Arnolfo was a small,
grubby, out-of-the way place in San-
dimas. A small plank bar stood at one side
of its low-ceilinged room and a coupie of =>
tables and chairs along the opposite wall.
I liked the place for its seclusion and air
of brooding solitude. It was nice to come
here of a dull, dreary afternoon and lean
over the bar by myself with a bottle of
Arnolfo’s tequila in front of me to drink
as I wished.
Arnolfo sat snoring gently at the end of
the bar. He was a short man with a pro-
digious paunch that rose and fell mightily
with his breathing. Dirty, uncombed gray
hair matted the top of his round head and
a fringe of dirty, greasy whiskers ringed _
his cheeks and lips.
Even through his slumber he heard the
other entering the cantina before I did.
Arnolfo’s breath choked in the middle of
a snore and his eyes batted open and he
was instantly awake, jumping to his feet
behind the bar. The other came into the
place with a slow deliberateness, his spurs
sounding mournfully, and he moved on >
down to the other end of the bar opposite
Arnolfo. I looked up then and saw that it
= Dave Livingston.
A chill wave of premonition al
through me. A cold knot clogged my throat
for a moment and then was gone, leaving
a sort of savage exntlareogm tingling in.
me.
“Ah, Sefior Livingston,” said Arnolfo,
washing his hands. “,Como le vaj”
Muy bueno,” said Livingston. “A slug of
tequila, Arnolfo.”
“Si, si, tequila,” said Arnolfo, as if that
wasn’t the only liquor he sold.
Livingston downed his drink and
smacked his lips loudly. He leaned an el-
bow on the bar and faced toward me.
“I just saw Margot, Joey,” he said in a
slow, languid way that I didn’t like at
all. “She told me about you and her meet-
ing on the trail to town.”
“Yes, Dave?”
“She told me you pestered her, Joey.
You know I don’t like that. I’ve told you
_that several times but like I’ve said you’ve
got a hard head and it takes a while for it
to sink in.”
My hand was fingering that scar on my
cheek. I looked at Livingston’s face It
80
still showed the marks and bruises I’d put
on it. The anger was stirring in me again.
“Have you come to get your face deco-
rated again, Dave?”
He spat a curse and slapped his hand
: down loudly on the bar. Arnolfo jumped -
and then reached hurriedly for the tequila
bottle. |
“Tequila, Sefor Livingston?” said Ar-
nolfo, pouring. “I, Arnolfo, am-~ buying.
Drink, senor. On the cantina of Arnolfo.”’
He came waddling down the bar to me.
“The cantina of Arnolfo is buying, Senior
Joey. Here, drink your tequila. Drink and
let’s all be brothers, sefores.”
Livingston had straightened. A dark
flush lay over his face. I caught the unrea-
soning madness in his eyes and suddenly
I knew how this meeting would turn out
and the knowledge left me momentarily
cold and sick inside.
“No, Joey, kid,” said Livingston with
studied deliberateness, “it won’t be fists
this time. Nothing as indefinite as fists.
It’s going to be settled once and for all
= this time.”
“Please, senores,” said Arnolfo, wring-
- ing his hands, “we are all brothers, no?
We are all amigos, no? Would you like
more tequila?’”’ He re=ched under the har,
came up with two sealed bottles. “Here,
senores, with the compliments of Arnolfo.
One bottle for you, Senor Livingston. The
other bottle for you, Sefor Joey. Take
them and go with the blessings of Arnol-
f O. 99
“Damn your tomiula
ston. “Drink it yourself.”
snarled Living-
E STARTED moving down the bar
toward me. I stepped away from it,
letting my sleeve brush against the black
handle of my Colt .44, my eyes never leav-
ing Livingston. He came slowly with his
right hand fingering the edge of the bar’
not far above the cedar butt of his Rem-
ington .44-40.
“Senores, please,” Arnolfo was plead-
ing. “Not here. Not in the cantina of Ar-
nolfo. | am a peaceful man. I am a brother
to everyone. I love the whole world.
Please, not here senores. I beg it of you.
*,
TEXAS RANGERS
Not here. Not in my beautiful cantina.”
“ I knew it was no use but I wanted to try
anyhow. I said, “Look, Dave. Take it easy,
won't you? She isn’t worth fighting over.
You're just blind about her. Why don’t
you wait and cool off and maybe ae ll see
it as it really is.’
“Yellow, Joey?” he sneered.
We'd have pulled then only Arnolfo had
stepped between us. He was holding two
bottles out to us. “Here, sefores,” he was
saying. “Take this. Not tequila. This is
good Americano drink. A whisky salesman
from El Paso sold them to me. Scotch,
senores! Beautiful, delectable Scotch! Al-
ways I have saved them for the day that
some gente fina would stop in the cantina
of Arnolfo and then I, Arnolfo, could show ~
them that I have a quality drink in my
cantina and not only tequila. But here,
senores, the Scotch is yours. Take it and
go and we are all brothers. You will take
this beauitful Scotch, no?”
“Damn you and your Scotch,” shouted -
Livingston, smashing out with his left arm.
Arnolfo squealed and went sprawling. I
‘heard the shatter of breaking glass and
then all I knew was the sudden, swift dip
of Livingston’s right hand.
I have only a vague recollection of the
immediate seconds. I know the .44 bucked
and roared in my hand and then Living-
ston was screaming and clawing his chest
and the next thing I remember-is standing
there, horror-stricken, gazing down at his
dead Raily.
How long I stood there I do not know.
‘The first sounds I remember is the heart-
broken sobbing of Arnolfo. He was kneel-
ing there on the dirt floor, fingering the
wet, shattered fragments of his two bot-
tles of Scotch.
“My Seotch, my Scotch,” he wailed.
I guess my face was drawn and gray
about the mouth. My stomach was flutter-
ing around inside me. Holstering my .4A,
I turned to Arnolfo. —
“You saw it, Arnolfo,” I said. “You saw
him pull first. He started it. You'll swear
to that, won’t you, Arnolfo?”
‘He held up his hands, full of dripping,
broken glass, to me. The tears coursed _
Ys
HAUNTED SPURS | | 81
—— his inad checks. “My Scotch,” he
sobbed. “The bottles are broken and my
Scotch is spilled on the floor. All my life
I have dreamed of the day that some gente
fina would come to my cantina. These
swells would sit at one of my tables and
they would say to me, ‘Arnolfo, we wish
to drink. Not that vile tequila but a drink
worthy of muy finos caballeros.’ Then I,
Arnolfo, would proudly serve them this
delightful Scotch. But now, look, senor.
Look at my beautiful Scotch spilled on the
floor.”
“Arnolfo,” I said, leaning down and
shaking his shoulder. “You saw the Senor
Livingston pull first, didn’t you? You will
swear to that when they ask you, won’t
-you, Arnolfo?”
“My Scotch,” he wailed. “AY ruined.
My delicious, treasured Scotch.”
“Arnolfo,” I tried again but saw it was
“quite hopeless. I straightened, very care-
ful to keep my eyes off the prone body of
Dave Livingston, and went out of the can-
tiha. Behind me, I could hear Arnolfo, -
piteously se biint.
“My Scotch, my Scotch. My poor, de-
lectable Scotch. .
CHAPTER III
The Veil Is Lifted
| Le DELMAS found me again at Buck
iStroner’s. Somehow, through all that
baffling, befuddling liquor haze, the mes-
sage of her urgency, worked through my
brain and I left wtih her. We rode up to
her mesa and there the cold, unending
sweep of the wind began to clear my
mind. By the time we got to her home I
was quite sober.
She filled me with scalding black coffee.
Then she squatted on her toes in front of
me as I sat in the big wicker-bottomed
chair, staring up at me with a see in-
_ tense look in her dark face.
“Do you know what you’re in for,
Joey?” she asked at long last.
“It was self-defense,” I growled, putting
a hand up in front of my eyes to see if that
would help to keep the awful, searing
memory away. “He pulled first. Arnolfo
can testify to that.”
“They’ ve sworn out a warrant auoues
you, Joey,” she said quietly.
“Why don’t they talk to Arnolfo? I’ve
got nothing to worry about. Arnolfo will
prove it was a fair hent and that Dave
started it.” .
She put her hand up on mine. I could
feel the bitter coldness of her fingers and
the tenseness in them. “Please believe me
when I say that I love you, Joey. Please
believe that I want to help you.” She
paused, then went on in a tight, strained
way. “The warrant has nothing to do with
Dave Livingston. It’s for the—murder of
your parents.”
_T sat up straight in the chair. For a mo-
ment I could see nothing but the hated,
tormenting, horrible vision. My throat
choked and went suddenly dry. Dimly, I
was aware that Pat had risen to her feet,
_ hovering over me.
“How would they know?” I gasped.
“Emmett Squires swore out the war-
rant,” she said. “He says he’s doing it for
your’own good, that you’re a homicidal
killer and should be put away—now that
you've killed again.”
I buried my face in my sata I guess
that sound that came out of me was an
aching sob. Then all my running away
from it had been of no avail. The years of
trying to hide from it had been of no use.
Now it was known. Now everybody knew.
I could feel her fingers in my hair. She
was stroking my head. “Something is
wrong there, Joey. I don’t care what any-
one says. I eS you didn’t kill your —
ents.” |
I tried to give a jeering laugh but it
became all mixed up with the sobs jerking
out of me. “Yeah, you know,” I said. “I
suppose you know better than me. I re-
member the gun in my- hand. I remember
.it bucking against my palm. I remember
killing them. But you know better than
that, don’t you, Pat?”
ee fingers dug into my arms. She
82 TEXAS RANGERS
pushed me back in the chair. She put her
face there close to mine. She shook me.
“You didn’t do it, Joey. I know it be-
cause I love you. I know you couldn’t have
killed them. You’ve tried to forget it so
much you've got it all mixed up in your
mind. Remember all of it, Joey, all of it!”
“What more do you want!” I cried. “T
remember the gun in my hand. I remem-
ber shooting at them!”
“Why, Joey? Why did you shoot at
them?”
— “T don’t know. I killed them. That’s all
‘I know.”
“Were you a Joey?”
“I don’t know, Pat. For God’s sake,
leave me alone.”
She pushed harder on my arms. Her
voice was cold, relentless. “Squires must
have been there if he knew about it. Don’t
you remember him?”
“T remember killing them. That’s all I
remember.” |
“Think, Joey. How did it happen? Think
of all that happened that night, Joey.”
“Go away, Pat,” I moaned. “Don’t talk
about it any more. I’ve spent ten years
trying to forget it. Why do you want me
to keep on remembering it?”
-“Vou’ve got to remember it, Joey—all
of it. Because I know somehow you didn’t
do it. Remember everything that you can
about it. Was there a fight or a struggle of
some kind?”
“T don’t know. I think I was mad. I
remember shooting the gun. I remember
shooting at them. They were on the floor.”
“Were you fighting over something?
Was a struggle going on?”
“T don’t know. I just shot the gun. That's
all I remember. There was a lot of noise in
-~ my head. That’s all I remember.”
I tried pushing her away from me but
her grip was like iron. Her voice kept
pounding at me, demanding, insistent.
“What kind of — Joey? Think hard,
Joey.”
“T hate that noise. I don’t know what it
was. I only know I killed them.”
“What made that noise, Joey? What did
it sound like?”
“Tt was a so we ieee: oa
<< =
ing and shrieking.”
“What made it, Joey? Think hard.
What made the squeaking and shrieking?”
I can’t tell exactly how it was. Some-
thing like a big black wall moving sudden-
ly and inexplicably aside. Opening on a”
room that was once dark and filled with
unearthly horrors and now with the black-
ness removed from it, the room lay there
clear and unalterably bright.
Pat’s face was there close to mine, her
eyes wet with tears, her mouth grim and
purposeful.
“What made that noise, Joey?”
“His spurs!.. .”
S I came into the living room, I could
see the back of Emmett Squires’s
head above the back of the cushioned easy
chair. There was a thin film of tobacco
smoke eddying about his face and the rich-
ness of its aroma struck my nostrils.
I was moving very quietly and he did
not hear me until I halted behind the chair
and said softly, “Hello, Emmett.” —
He started, then twisted suddenly
around, spurs protesting shrilly, regarding
me over the top of the chair with bewil-
derment widening his eyes. He sucked in
his breath in a great, chest-swelling in-
halation and let it out of him in a loud,
lingering sigh.
Slowly, he got up on his feet aad put
on that small, self-effacing smile of his.
“You startled me, Joey. Where have you —
been?”
“Oh, out and about,” I said. I’ve been
thinking about it again, Emmett.”
He took the Havana cigar out of his
mouth and let the indulgent sadness come
to his eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that, Joey.
You shouldn’t think about it so much.”
Some of that old anger started beating
in the back of my head. “You’ve always
made sure I wouldn’t forget it, haven’t
you, Emmett? You always kept telling me
not to think about it, knowing that your
insistent harping on it would only make
me remember it all the more. Well, Em-
mett, I’ve gone on remembering it. In fact;
T’ve finally remembered all of it.” ©
-He began smoothing his yellow silk shirt
/
HAUNTED SPURS gg
with his hand. His eyes hardened, then
wavered, then shot back, keen and pierc-
ing, at me.
“TI don’t get you, Joey,” he said. “You’re
all mixed up, lad.”
“Should I tally it up for you?” I said bit-
terly. “I guess I will. You see, Emmett, I
remember you putting that gun in my
hand that night. I remember you shooting
- it off in my fingers. I think they were
already dead. My mind was all fuzzy that
night. I don’t know what you did to me
to make me like tHat. Everything is still
hazy but I remember you from that night,
Emmett.”
He smiled somewhat archly. “I always
‘knew that Stroner’s moonshine would get
you some time. You shouldn’t have drunk
so much of it, Joey.”
The words shot through my teeth. “I’m
cold sober for once, Emmett. I know what
I’m doing. I know what I’m saying. In fact,
I’ll tell you what you’ve been trying to do
ever since that night. You want Bar G,
don’t you? With me out of the wavy and
you having been my guardian and having
raised me like a son and all that rot, vou
could finagle your way into getting hold.
of it, couldn’t vou. Emmett?
“Is that why you swore out that warrant
for my arrest? You were pretty positive
that I wouldn’t remember any more who
really killed my parents. Is that why you
-got Margot LeClerc to work on Dave Liv-
ingston until I had to kill him? You want-
-.ed Dave out of the wav. didn’t you? Was
he blackmailing you, Emmett? I alwavs
'knew he had some hold on you. It was
your idea to get Margot to play uv to Dave
and then switch over to me. You were
pretty friendly with her until about a year
ago. Isn’t that right, Emmett?”
He waved an apologetic hand, the left
hand. That diverted my eyes. His right
hand had been stroking his shirt and now,
suddenly, it dove beneath the cloth and
came out with a pistol in its grip. The
barrel centered on my chest. A cold
grimace twisted Emmett’s lips.
“You really know how to add two and
two, don’t you, Joey?” he said in a soft,
_ dangerous tone. “Little good it will do you
though. I’ve got you right oe I want
you. I’m sure by now that my story about
you killing your parents will hold. Yés,
after having killed Dave Livingston, I
think the story will stand. I think it will
stand, too,“when I say you threatened my
life and I had to shoot you in self-defense.
You’re a_ maniacal killer, don’t you
know?”
PE ‘GAVE an ugly’ little _ titter.
@ Through the anguish and anger
burning in me, I said, ““Why did you have
to kill my father and mother? Just to get
Bar G? What did you have against them?”
He tittered again. A mad; unholy light
seemed to glow in his eyes. “Nothing like
clearing up loose ends. eh, Joey? I like a
neat. thorough job so I'll tell you. You see,
I knew your mother back in Missouri. I
wanted to marry her but she married your
father instead. I swore I’d kill them both
for that. They came out to the West. It
took me fifteen vears before I found them.
I didn’t kill them right away. Oh, no. I was
too clever for that. I pretended it was all
over with me. I became the best friend of
the family so there would be no suspicion
cast on me and to make it easy to be ap-
pointed vour guardian.”
He laughed again, eyes glittering evilly.
“Maybe it was because I wanted Bar G.
It is a juicy plum, Joey. I drugged you
that night. I put the gun in your hand and
fired it into the dead bodies of your father
and mother. I gambled on that dazed im-
pression being so horrible to you that you —
would remember nothing else. For ten
yea’s I was correct. The memory of it was
so terrible and then the drug had so thick-
ened your brain that you kept fighting the
remembrance, trying to put it out of your
mind, succeeding instead only to convince
yourself that you had really killed your
parents.” A simpering smirk twisted his
lins. “It was quite clever, if I say so a
self.”
“And Livingston?” I sk cat
“He was in it with me. He never did like
my taking over Bar G. He was quite diffi-
cult at times. You took care of him very
nicely for me.” His voice thinned.
“T be-.
84 | TEXAS RANGERS | : “
lieve this clears up all your questions,
Joey. Thanks for giving me the privilege
6f killing you, also. After all, you’re their
son. I’ve enjoyed every minute of the hell
you went through, thinking you had killed
them. I hate your dirty, crawling guts!”
His eyes distended, his mouth contorted
into'a savage, snarling grimace. I felt the
coldness closing over the back of my neck
and then the welcome voice came from
just outside the window. __
“Hold it, = I’ve got you cov-
ered!”
Emmett jerked in surprise. The pistol
- wavered in his hand as his head whippéd
around toward the open window. That was
all that I had been waiting for. I leaped
ahead.
He saw me coming and cried out, lining
up the pistol again, but I was on him. I
knocked his wrist aside, and the gun sent
its bullet into the floor. My fist caught him -
under the chin. I put all the strength I had
into the blow. He went wildly back, flail-
ing his arms, slamming up penis the
wall.
Before he could recover, I had reached
him. Now I knew only the old, ravaging, |
blinding anger racing madly through me.
I knew only the savage, familiar impulse |
to lash out at him. I don’t know how many
times I hit him. I was crying and scream-
ing and smashing at his bloodied face, his
hoarse, retching moans like music in my
ears, and then the hands and fingers were
tearing me off him.
I fought them but they got me into a
chair and held me in it, ‘both of them, Pat
Delmas and Sheriff fake Tunstall. Final-
ly, the madness went out of my brain and
I quieted and said, “I’m all right now. I’m
all right. Did you hear him, Luke? Wasn’t
it like I told you it would be?”
“IT heard him;” said Tunstall, his wide,
craggy face gray and mean. “You told me
a wild story, Joey, but Squires verified it.
He’s one gent it’s going to be a pleasure to
hang!”
Reaction began to set in. My stomach
was sick and floating around inside me.
My fingers trembled. A sagging weakness
persisted in my knees.
I looked up at Tunstall and Pat Delmas.
-“T could have killed him, couldn’t I? I had
the right to kill him but I didn’t, did I?
For ten years he kept telling me I was a
homicidal killer. And then I went and
killed Livingston. I could have killed Em-
mett, too, but I didn’t. ’m not a killer,
am [?” pe
I was looking at Pat. She saw the appeal
in my face and she smiled through the
tears in her eyes. “No, Joey, you’re not a
killer,” she said quietly.
She held out her:hand and:I took it and
she led me outside. We stood very close
together there in the ranch yard. The wind
“came down upon us, somehow very clean
and vibrant now, washing away all the old
traces and fragments of memory. I pulled
Pat still closer to me and put my cheek
in her hair and for the first time in ten
years knew a complete, pervading happi-
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Pat
Zebra unlocked the cell
door. “Get outa here,” he
said to Charley Carter
Every Dog Has His Day
—but Charley was beginning to think it
only applied to the four-legged variety
ANGED if it ain’t the truth,” Charley Double M, you got to go back to a cere
Carter said to the Double M fore- tain Monday in August. On that day,
man. “Every dog does have his day!” | Charley had his twenty-first birthday.
Now, if you want to know what made He was a long, lean cowboy, with a
Charley say this to the foreman of the . wide grin and a freckled face. For five
$5 | : :
ee
2 _
ye nny: wu
i} S See 7
le ee
was the old maverick’s
years, he’d been working his head off
for his old tight-fisted Uncle Ham Mundy,
owner of the Rocking M, and for some
reason or other. Charley had an idea
that his twenty-first birthday would make
things some different. Not that he ob-
jected to working hard. But after all, he
only living rela-
tive, and when a young man comes of
age, he naturally thinks —
Well, old Uncle Ham bit off a hunk of
eating tobacco, gave his nephew a care-
ful look and started off the day by saying,
“You can celebrate by cleanin’ out the
horsebarn, son.”
Charley’s red —s kind of sizzled un-
der his ten-gallon hat, while his mild blue
eyes narrowed Pears But being no
hand to say much, he didn’t offer no ar-
guments. He just straddled his bronc and
rode away from the Rocking M, figuring
he’d had all of Uncle Ham’s bossing he
ever wanted and that he would go to
Africa, or someplace, and make a fresh
start. - :
But he wasn’t very happy about it. The
henest truth is, he was kind of a home-
loving boy, and deep in his heart, he felt
a certain fondness for his Uncle Ham.
Also, there was Millie McDuffee.
Lately, Millie had been looking with
favor upon a young gent by the name of
Gus Gordon. Not that Charley had any
strings on Millie, but it kind of rubbed
him the wrong way ‘to see a slick stranger
come here and grab off the prettiest girl
in the county...
NHE sun was a brassy furnace in the
cloudless sky. It was so hot that
morning that Sol Coots, Gil Grover, Ed
Biggers and Sim Adams, members of the
Cross-creek Spit-and-Whittle Club, quit
their checker game in the barber shop
and wandered around to the shady side of
Jeff Fox’s general store. This is where
_they were when Charley rode into town.
Charley tied his brone in front of the
| bank, aiming to draw out his life’s sav-
__ings to take with him to Africa. But it
was too early for the bank to be open,
so Charley also wandered around to the
stopped the hoss;
86 = TEXAS RANGERS
shady side of the store. The four oldsters
didn’t pay no mind to a young squirt like
him. They sat with their bony, bent backs
against the building and continued to spit,
whittle and sling the bull.
“Ain’t no question about it,” old Gil
Grover was saying. “Sooner or later, a
man runs up agin the all-important day
of his life. The day that he can look back
on and say, ‘That’s the day that started
me out—made me rich.”
Now, GilGrover’s words carried weight
in Cross-creek. He was president of the
bank, even if he hadn’t been inside it for
twenty years, and was richer than a tub-
ful of whipped cream. Yes sir, when he
-said something, folks sat up and took
notice.
““How’s that, Gil?” Sol Copies said past
his white wlickees.
Sol had retired from the ranching busi-
ness fifteen years before with more money
than he knew what to do. with. His words
carried weight, too.
“I was just past twenty-seven when
my important day came along,” Gil said,
spitting gushily. “Walkin’ down the
street, flat busted, I looked up, and there
was a hoss runnin’ away with a girl. I
‘saved the girl. She
turned out to be the banker’s daughter.
Married her. That’s how come I got to...
be a banker.”
-Frowning, Ed Biggers rubbed his oie
bald head. Ed owned stock in a dozen
railroads.
“By gum!” he exploded. “Come to think
about it, I can pick out the day that made
me. That day I drove my old team to
town, aimin’ to sell ’em and get outa
the country. Feller runnin’ the store then
stops me an’ sez, ‘Ed, I’m movin’ my stock
across the street to the new building. How
about you doin’ the hauling?’ ”’
Ed spat noisily. “First thing you know,
I was in the freightin’ business. Next
thing you know, I was railroadin’.”
Sol Coots nodded sagely. “Got my start
one day in a poker game. Started with
three dollars and won a dozen or so long-
horns. Reckon if I hadn’t. got in that _
poker game, I’d never thought about going
ree
EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY
hair, lily-white hands and plenty of money
to throw around. Charley had him fig-
into the ranchin’ business.”
“Funny thing,’ Sim Adams piped up.
“Buyin’ a pair of shoes started out the
day that was a turning point in my life.”
“How was that?” Sol wanted to know.’
“Them blamed shoes was too tight. The:
- Jonger I wore ’em, the madder I got.
~ Along comes a‘big stranger and makes
some crack about me bein’ a runt. I was
so mad I didn’t stop to think. Tied into
him and licked the daylights outa him.
When he came to, said he would be proud
to shake hands with the gent who had
licked him. He turned out to be a pro-
~ spector. We went into the minin’ business
together and struck it rich.”
“Sun’s creepin’ around on us, 2 * Gil Gro-
ver observed.
The four oldsters groaned to their feet
_and moved on to find a shadier place. But
‘not Charley Carter. He dropped down
on his haunches to mull over what he had
just heard. But before he got his brain
in gear, he heard the clatter of hoofs on
the hard ground. Glancing up, he saw
Millie McDufiee riding her pinto up the
‘street.
ILLIE was nineteen. She lived on
the Bar M with her pa and ma.
She was something to see in an open-
throated shirt.and a short riding skirt.
Yellow hair, a small straight nose, a wide
red mouth. She saw Charley sitting there,
lifted a hand and smiled. ?
Charley waved back, but with no great
enthusiasm. Although he and Millie were
friends from way. back; he wasn’t the
kind to show undue excitement over
any girl. Even if it did kind of gall him
to know that Millie was casting her
smiles upon Gus Gordon.
He watched her halt in front of the post
office and’ swing to the ground with a™
swish of skirts about her slim bare legs.
He was on the verge of getting to his
feet and crossing over to say hello when
Gus Gordon’ came hurrying up to her.
This newcomer to Cross-creek claimed
~ he was from near Denver and had come
~~ out here to find himself a ranch to buy.
He was:a handsome cuss with slick black
ured as a four-flusher, which was exactly
what he was.
Presently, Millie and Gus walked from
sight around the corner of a_ building.
Shrugging, Charley settled back against
the side of Jeff Fox’s store and again
began to mull over what the four wealthy :
old-timers had said.
He never doubted for a minute but
what he had heard was the absolute truth..
And figuring that He himself hadn’t as
yet met up with any one day that would
make him rich or successful, it occurred
to him that this was likely the day. His
twenty-first birthday, wasn’t it? Started
out with breaking off with his Uncle Ham.
Who knew, maybe today would be the
turning point—
“If it ain’t my old pal, Charley Carter!”
a voice sang out and a big hand squashed
his hat down over his eyes.
Prying the hat from his eyes, Charley
gazed up into the brown, grinning face
of Dusty Dunn. He and Dusty were the
same age. They had fist-fought each other
to a draw a number of times and had been
the best of friends for years.
Dusty lowered himself into the shade.
“What’s new, chum?”
Charley repeated the oldsters’ conver-
sation. “I kind of got a hunch that this
may be my big day,” he finished.
“Every dog has his day, all right,” Dusty _ :
said, grinning.
Charley scowled faintly. He didn’ t ie v4
ure he was exactly no dog, although he
had led a dog’s life, off and on.
“Reminds: me, one day my pe NES
caught a fish that’d swallowed a dime,”
Dusty went on, grinning wider. “He took
that dime and—”’ 3
“All right,” Charley said darkly. “I
got enough to worry me without listen-
ing to you run off at the mouth.’”
Whistling cheerfully, the bony cowboy
rose and wandered on along the street,
leaving Charley to himself.
HARLEY tipped back his hat and let
his eyes stray. No storekeeper was
%
* y] if
‘0 Mare
ee
<r
phat 2s COR yey ae
into the freighting business.
again in the shade.
eight cents.
88 TEXAS RANGERS
moving from one aiding to another, so
there didn’t seem any chance of getting
Nobody at
the bank had a daughter to rescue. There
weren’t any miners in Cross-creek to lick.
Anyway, Charley’s old boots didn’t pinch
his feet, and he couldn’t think of a thing
to aggravate him enough to lick anybody.
Suddenly he had a let-down feeling. Like
as not, this wasn’t his red-letter day,
after all.
But at that moment, Jeff Fox came
around the corner of his store, pushing
a loaded wheelbarrow. Jeff’s round face
was redder than a politician’s herring,
and he was puffing like a leaky steam
engine.
“Got a ton of stuff to wheel up from
the depot,” he wheezed.
Charley felt a sudden tingle of excite-
‘ment. Here was his chance to go into the
freighting business and end up owning a
| — of railroads.
~~ “How about hiring me to wheel up
your stuff?”” he asked.
Jeff snorted and shook his head. “T ain't
helpless yet,’ he said, and went on his
way.
Charley sighed ce and sank aciwh
Then he saw Ace
Allen, the Beefsteak Saloon gambler, cross
the sia blisleved street and push past
the batwings.
Now, Charley was no gambler. But
_ anyway he looked at it, it would be nice
to win a herd of cattle and get himself -
started in the ranching business. A search
through his pockets revealed twenty-
eight cents. A gent like Ace Allen
wouldn’t care to waste his time, playing
poker with a cowboy who had but twenty-
Charley shoved to his feet
and went into the bank. He checked
out his life’s savings—one hundred and
_ fifty-three bucks—and- stepped back out
into the sun’s brassy glare. He was still
standing there, his mind not quite made
up, when Millie came along.
“Hi, Chuck,” she said, ce ties a
2 smile.
Her hair was like gleaming ee in the
“sunli ght and her blue eyes were dancing
up at him full of the devil—well, Charley
suddenly guessed maybe he didn’t want ts
go to Africa, after all. 7
“See you saa Gus Gordon are getting
pretty thick,” he said.
“Not jealous, are oe = asked,
dimpling.
“Me, jealous?” That was a good one.
Charlay liked to laughed himself hoarse.
“Why would I be jealous?”
“Then what are you yelling your head
off about?” Millie asked.
“Me, yelling?” Charley yelled.
must be crazy!”
“A girl could do worse than pick her-
self up a wealthy young rancher like
Gus,” Millie said coolly.
She swung her golden head and went
on down the street, as cute a little trick as
you ever hope to lay eyes on. :
“So she’s wanting to pick up a rich
young rancher,” Charley said to himself,
grinding his teeth. “Well, she’d have a
heck of a time, picking me up, even if ]
owned a million cows!”
Scowling darkly, he crossed the street
and went into the Beefsteak Saloon. He’d
show that Millie McDuffee a thing or two.
“Vou
HE PLACE was practically deserted
at that time of day. Not more than a
dozen gents around, counting Charley and
Big Bo Benson, the barkeep. But Ace
Allen sat at a green-topped table with
a cigar between his thin lips. And across
from him sat Gus Gordon, as handsome
as a circus parade.
Face grim, Charley strode over-to the ©
table. ‘“Wouldn’t want to play a little
poker, would you?” he said to Ace.
“Maybe,” Ace said without much show
of interest.
Charley sat down and put his roll on
the table. Gus Gordon swallowed wrong
and like to choked to death. Ace smiled
thinly and began to shuffle the cards with
his long, expert fingers.
“How much money you got there.
Charley?” Ace asked casually.
“Enough to win myself a herd of
steers,” Rharley told him without hes- 7
itation.
EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY
“Mind if I get in on the game?” Gus
asked. 7
“Just as leave win your money as any-
body’s,” Charley answered. |
Gus produced a wad of bills. Ace
zounted out chips and put all the money
into his pockets.
“Suckers,” Charles said and picked up
his first hand.
Gus won that pot. Ace won the marek
It went on like that until Charley’s chips
were gone. :
“Want to bet your horse and saddle?”
Ace asked pleasantly.
Charley shoved back from the table.
One thing he knew for sure, this wasn’t
his lucky day.
“No, thanks,” he said sadly and headed
for the batwings.
He had been so busy losing his money
that he hadn’t seen Dusty Dunn come in.
So it came to him with quite a shock
when Dusty hawed-hawed ands said,
“Every dog has his day, all right.”
~ Ordinarily Charley was as peacable as
any redhead. But after losing his money
instead of winning a herd of cattle, he
wasn’t in no mood for taking a joke.
“That ain't funny!” he said furiously,
and he hauled off and knocked Dusty
halfway across the room.
Now, Dusty Dunn wasn’t the kind to
allow no redheaded cownurse to swat —
him, even if he was his best friend. He
got to his feet, shock the cobwebs out of
his head. Then he came back, swinging
from his hips.
It turned out to be a rousing good fight..
And before the barkeep and the few
spectators got around to stopping it, a
number of chairs, bottles and one large
mirror got broken into little” pieces. Big
Bo Benson was fit to be tied.
“No redheaded hellion can come in here,
start a fight and bust up a hundred dol-
Jars’ worth of stuff without payin’ for
it,“ Big Bo yelled.
“I didn’t start it,’ Charley declared,
glaring at Dusty. He started it by saying,
‘Every dog has his day.’ So I—”
“Every dog has his day ain’t fightin’
words!” Big Bo cut in hotly. “I'd like to
see you thrown in the jug till the damages
was paid in full!”
“All right, all right!” Charley yelled.
“So the whole thing was my fault, and
any saddle bum can say every dog has
his day till his tongue falls out! I don’t
care—and don’t worry, I’ll pay the dam-
ages.”
He shook off the restraining hands and
went storming out into the street. He
couldn’t. remember the day when he'd
- been so downright aggravated.
HE SUN told him it was time to go
put on the feedbag, but he’d lost his
appetite. However, it didn’t seem quite
right to starve his bronc, so he led the
animal to the livery barn and turned him |
over to Punchy Pratt, a kid whose ambi-
tion was to grow up into an outlaw.
By then, Charley had begun to cool off
some. ad with the cooling off came
a feeling of remorse. He should have
had better sense, he knew, than to play
poker for keeps with a gambler of Ace |
Allen’s caliber. And having a fight with
Dusty was the dangest fool thing he had
done for a long time—unless you’d con-
sider eavesdropping on four rich old
-coyotes,. who hadn’t done an honest day’s
work in twenty years, and believing what
they said.
Walking along the street, he kept an
eye open for Dusty, with some idea of.
apologizing in the back of his mind. But
Dusty wasn’t to be seen anyplace. In
fact, the street was deserted, for it was
high noon. And more from force of habit
than hunger, Charley went into Jeff Fox’s
store. He still had the twenty-eight cents,
which would buy quite a few crackers.
Just as he’d finished eating, Jeff came
in with another wheelbarrow loaded with -
boxes.
the fat
“Reckon I’m
“Hotter’n a fire in a haymow,”
little merchant complained.
ready to turn this one-wheéled dray over
to you, Charley, since you ’re lookin’ for
a job.”
Charley snorted. On a day like’ this
when everything was going against him,
he could wear his feet down to nubbins,
&$
2%
a
ee TEXAS RANGERS
freighting groceries, and never become the ©
owner of a railroad.
“You ain’t helpless,’
“Tote your own stuff.”
Leaving Jeff standing there pop-eyed,
Charley stamped out into the boiling sun-
light. He noticed that Sheriff Zebra Zorn
had returned to town. Then he saw that
Millie’s pinto had pulled loose from the
hitch-rail in front of the post office.
Charley crossed over and re-tied the
pony. Turning away, he caught a glimpse
of Punchy Pratt just before he ducked
behind the post office building. But
Charley didn’t pay no mind to the kid.
Punchy was forever making believe he
was Jesse James, or some outlaw, sneak-
ing away from a posse.
There was one lone iote tree in
Cross-creek, and it stood near the town
pump. Squinting against the midday
glare, the long-legged ranny headed that
way. Arriving at the pump, he tipped
back his hat and saw that the four old
spitters and whittlers had moved their
checker board into the shade of the tree.
“The more I think about it,” old “Gil
Grover, the banker, was saying, “the
more I’m certain that there comes a day
of days to every man, woman and child.”
“Ain’t no doubt about it!” Ed Biggers
agreed heartily. “An’ when that day
tomes to a gent, no matter what he does,
everything works out just right and he
allus lands on top.”
“Take that one special day out of a
man’s life,” old Sim Adams piped up, “and
a man would be ruint for good. Like me,
for instance. If you took that day away
from me when I bought them tight shoes
-and—”
Charley Carter snorted. He snorted
like a bull with his nose ring snagged
on a fence post, and the four oldsters
glanced up out of startled eyes.
“What’s the matter with you, son?”
Ed Biggers asked. “You got too much
steam in your boilers, or somethin’?”
"Charley said.
Charley didnt bother to answer. Giv-
ing another snort of disgust, he pulled his
hat down over his eyes and went on to
seek shade elsewhere.
HE FEED STORE had a porcn on it,
so he headed that way. But he hadn’t
no more than got located when Millie
came tripping along, carrying a package.
“Hi,” she said. “You about ready to
go home? If you are, we might as well ©
ride together.”
Home? Charley didn’t have no more
home than a tumbleweed, now that he
had broken off with his Uncle Ham. He
swallowed hard and hunkered a little
deeper in the shadows. Then, for no good
reason at all that he could figure, he felt
like a blundering idiot. That made him
forget his manners.
“Why don’t you have Gus ride with
you?” he said coldly. ‘He likely don’t
have nothing better to do.”
She stuck out her chin at him, and
sparks leaped into her blue eyes. “Thanks
for the suggestion,” she said.
Head held high, she walked away, her:
spurs jingling angrily. And you can’t
lame her for wishing she wasn’t such a
lady so that she could tell Charley off.
Ever since she’d been knee-high to a
branding iron, she had looked upon
Charley Carter as the young man most
likely to become her husband. But
Charley’s response had not been enthusi-
astic. That was why she’d made a few
goo-goo eyes at Gus Gordon, figuring that
a stir of jealousy might cause Charley
to get busy.
Lifting her eyes, she saw Gus: standing
with his back against the barber pole
on the other side of the street. She waved
and gave him a big smile.
Actually, she wasn’t much sold on this
slick newcomer. But she was plenty sore
at Charley. She would show him what
was what. ‘So with an idea of asking Gus
to ride out to the Bar M with her, she
untied her pinto and swung into the
saddle.
All the time, Charley was wees her
from under bis hat brim and wishing he
could turn her over his knee and spank
some sense into her. The way she walked
with her head held high, her split skirt
swishing about her bare legs, was plumb
disgusting. She thought she was some-
EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY 91
‘body, all right. The way she swung into
the saddle like she was queen of all the
cowgirls was enough to make Charley
froth at the mouth, and—
At that instant, the pinto snorted, laid
back his ears and jumped about three
feet straight into the air. Taken by sur-
prise, the girl lost her package and the
bridle reins. But she did manage to wrap
her fingers around the saddle horn and
hang on. The pinto squealed, circled and
began to hop stiff-legged. .
Charley couldn’t understand it. That
pinto was as gentle as a pup; and for a-
minute, he just sat there, trying to figure
out what had gone wrong. He saw Gus
across the street and wondered vaguely if.
Millie was putting on a show for him.
Then he remembered about old Gil Gro-
ver’s rescuing the banker’s daughter and
snorted in high disgust.
Well, he wasn’t going out there and
calm down Millie’s pony. She wasn’t no
banker’s daughter. Besides, on a day like
this when every move he made led to
trouble, he would likely get killed if he
tried to stop—
Then Millie let out a terrified cry, and
it hit Charley like a bucket of buckshot.
The girl wasn’t fooling. She was in real
trouble and stood a good chance of getting
hurt bad.
E LEAPED to his feet. But he was
about five seconds too late, for Gus
- Gofdon was out there, going to the rescue
like a knight in shining armor. Charley
slunk back into the shade and watched
Gus grab the flying reins and pull the
pinto to a quivering stand-still.
Millie slid to the ground. She was white
and shaken. Gus put one arm about her -
shoulders and held her close. He was the
hero of the hour and he knew it and wasn’t
going to pass up a good thing like this.
No, sir!
But in a mainatte. Millie got hold of her-
self and pulled away. Charley heard her
Jaugh shakily.
‘Pete never acted like that before,”
she said. “I can’t understand it.”
“Something must be wrong with that
saddle,” Gus said, scowling like a storm
cloud.
- “But,” Millie said, “what ae be”
She let it go at that, for Gus had
loosened the saddle and had found the
cause of Pete’s misbehavior.
“Who,” he said in a loud voice, ‘would
put this bent horseshoe nail under your
saddle, Millie, so that when you climbed.
up the point would gouge Pete in the
ribs?”
Millie just stood there with her mouth
hanging open, staring blankly at the bent
nail in Gus’s white fingers.
“Somebodys' tried to get you hurt, Mil-
lie,’ Gus said.
“But who—”
“T don’t know.” re looked fiercely up
and down the street. “But if I ever find
out, he’d better leave the country before
I get my hands on _ him!”
Then he said something to Millie that
Charley didn’t catch, and Millie nodded
her head. A few minutes later, they
rode side by side from town toward the
Bar M.
Charley just sat there in the shade,
grinding his teeth with rage and trying to
figure who would want to get Millie hurt.
Millie didn’t have any enemies that he
knew of. Of course, her old man was a
salty old cuss and might have made some-
one sore enough to put a bent nail under
the saddle. But to Charley that seemed
like a mighty left-handed way to ‘get
even with old:-man McDuffee.
- However, one thing was for sure—while
he, Charley Carter, had sat here like a
_ninny, Gus Gordon had had enough sense
to rush out and save Millie from a bad
fall. There was no question who the .
hero was; and realizing this, Charley’s
spirits sank to about sixty below zero.
What a day this had turned out to be!
A break with his Uncle Ham. His money
gambled away. A fight with his best
friend. And too slow on the trigger to
go to Milillie’s rescue. If Charley had
been double-jointed at the knees, he
would likely have kicked himself all over
town. As it was, he made up his mind
to get his horse and leave the country
a
- Zebra bellowed.
the sheriff said angrily,
92 | TEXAS RANGERS
~ pronto, and never, never return.
‘Hitching up his pants, he stumbled to-
ward ‘he livery barn. At that moment,
Sheriff Zebra Zorn stepped from his office
and gave the young cowboy an unfriendly .
look.
“Charley,” he called,
minute.”
Obligingly, Charley obeyed.
Zebra Zorn favored black and white
striped shirts. He had one on now, with
a somewhat rusty star pinned to it. He
hooked fat thumbs under his gunbelt and
glared at Charley.
“You ain’t, by any chance, thinkin’ of
leavin’ town, are you?” he eked erufily.
“Not =e am [ thinking about it,”
Charley answered grimly, “but that’s ex-
actly what I’m about to do.”
“Well, I got news for you,” Foire said
“come here a
coldly. “You ain’t goin’ no place except
to jail!” 2
“What?” Charley bleated. “You crazy,
er——”
-_*You.can’t come to town, start a fight
and bust up a hundred dollars’. worth
of property and skin out without payin’
for it,’ the sheriff said.
“Now, looky here,” Charley began tant
ously. “You can’t—’’
“Don’t try to tell me what I can’t do!”
“It’s such hot-headed
cowpokes as you that give a town like
- this a bad reputation. Time I was making
an example outa somebody, and it might
as well be you!” |
HE NEXT THING Charley knew, he
was locked up tighter than a new boot
- onarainy day. He sank down on the nar-
row wooden bunk in his cell and =—
to cuss.
“Yappin’ ain’t goin’ to get you noplace,”
“so you might as
well take it easy.” =e
- Realizing the truth of this, Charley
stopped his swearing and cupped his bony
chin in his big hands. All he needed now
to complete this worst day in his life, he
thought bitterly, was to have the jail fall
in on him. At last, he lay back on the
bunk and closed fae weary eyes.
Re =
ee
prt ae
By and by, the sheriff brought him
something to eat, but Charley ignored
both food and lawdog. Pretty soon, it was
sundown, and Charley began to wonder
if he would have to stay here the rest of
his life. He was trying to figure some
way of breaking out of jail when a great
commotion arose in the front office.
“Dang it all, Zebra,” he heard his Uncle
Ham yell, “let that boy outa there ‘fore:
I tear down this blasted rat trap!” |
Grinning suddenly, Charley sprang to
his feet. Then he remembered that he’d
left his uncle and the dear old Rocking M
forever and didn’t feel so happy. But he
stood there at the barred door, listening,
anyway.
It seemed that news of his nephew’s ar-
rest had reached Uncle Ham late that
afternoon; and from the way the old ma-
verick was stamping and snorting up
there in the front office, it appeared that
he didn’t like this business no two ways
from last Friday’s breakfast.
“Any young feller’s got a right to blow
off steam now and then by gettin’ into a
good fist-fight!” he yelled.
“But he ain’t got no right to bust up a
hundred dollars’ worth of property and
try to get away without payin’ for it!”
Zebra yelled back.
“You take my check for it, or you got
to have cash, you fat-headed star-toter?”
Uncle Ham ranted. ‘Now, open that door.
I got some things to say to that long-
legged buzzard in there, and I-don’t aim
to say ‘em through a door.”
Zebra unlocked the cell door. “Get outa
here, Charley,” he wheezed. “And take
that danged old hellion with you before
he tears up my jail.”
Charley didn’t lose no time getting out
of there, and he and his Uncle Ham went
out into the street.
“Get your hoss, son, and we'll head
for home,” Uncle Ham said.
HARLEY didn’t know what.to say.
It seemed mighty ungrateful of him
to refuse to return to the Rocking M, and
yet he couldn’t forget he was twenty-one
and fed up with being cuffed around like
EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY | | 93°
a wet-eared kid. On the other hand, noth-
ing would suit him better than going back
to the old ranch.
But Uncle Ham seemed to read his
mind. “I got plans for you, boy,” he said.
“Plans to take you in as my pardner. Had:
"em for a long time, but figured that as
long as you knuckled down to me like a
whipped dog, you wouldn’t make a very
good pardner., Then this morning when
you refused to take my bossin’ any longer,
I knew the time had come. But I thought >
I’d give you a chance to look around a
little. Wanted you to be sure the Recking
M was what you wanted. Didn’t have
no idea youd land in jail and—”
He was interrupted by the clatter of
hoofs and old man McDufiee.
“Sheriff,” McDufiee bellowed,
here a minute.”
Zebra hurried out, a "eirassed ex-
pression on his fat face.
“Somebody tried to get Millie throwed
this afternoon by putting this bent horse-
shoe nail under her saddle,”
said. ‘Now, that’s a low-down dirty trick
in anybody’s language, besides being
dangerous. If it hadn’t been for Gus Gor-
don, she might’ve been hurt bad.”
“y bet I know who did it!” the sheriff
cut in, suddenly looking mad enough to
bite a hunk out of his own jail.
Carter! I saw him foolin’ with Millie’s
pinto this noon, and—”
“T,” Charley said hoarsely, “was merely
tying that pinto. He’d pulled loose, and—”
“And Charley was a-sittin ‘there on the
feed store steps and didn’t make a move
when that pinto began to buck.”
“I,” Charley said faintly, “ was thinking
boo
Boog
“Charley,” Zebra roared, “I’m goin’ to
lock you up again, and this time I will
make an example outa you!”
“Just a minute, Sheriff.” It was Dusty
Dunn who had stepped up. “I happen
to know who put that nail under her
saddle. It was that kid, Punchy Pratt.”
_ “I don’t believe it!” Zebra said. “You’re
just tryin’ to help out Charley because
you and him are pals.”
“Saw Punchy eae around the pintee
McDuffee °
“Charley -
Didn’t think anything about it till the
horse started to cut up. Cornered Punchy,
and he admitted he did it. Gus Gordon
paid him two ‘dollars to do it. You can —
ask Punchy—”’
“What?” Punchy yelled.
“Seems that Gus wanted to make him-
self look like a hero. I. wasn’t going to
say anything about it since Millie wasn’t ©
hurt. Kind of sore at Charley for jump-
ing me for saying that every dog has
his day. But I can’t let a pal go to jail~”
“You mean,’ Charley said thickly, “that
coyote would do that just to get on the
good side of Millie and her pa and—”
“Thanks, pal,” Charley said in a some-
what unsteady voice. “Maybe you can
tell me where Gus is at?”
“Him and Ace are in the Beeisteak
Saloon, and—”
Not waiting to hear the rest, Charley
made a run for the saloon.
RINNING happily, Uncle Ham signed
his ‘name to a blank check and
handed it to the sheriff. “You can fill in
the amount,” he said, “for whatever
damage Charley does over there, lickin’
the hell outa that slick side-winder.”
Now it was a long time after this before
Charley Carter saw the through of it. He
and Millie had been married long enough -
to have quite a sizable family. The Rock-
ing M and the Bar M had been put to-
gether and named the Double M. Charley
had made a hatful of money with this
big outfit. He had built a: fine new ranch
house for~his family, bought the con-
trolling interest is the Cross-creek bank,
invested in railroad stocks and became
part owner of a gold mine. All this had
happened, and more, too, before he got
around to thinking about it and then gone
rushing out to find Dusty Dunn, who was
foreman of the big Double M.
“Danged if it ain’t the truth!” he said
to Dusty. “Every dog does have his day!”
Dusty just grinned and nodded. He
didn’t have to be told that Charley was —
remembering back to that all-important
day when he’d had his iwenty-laet birth-
-day. 3 @@¢e
-
a
a
<
n
0
>.
r=)
A
be |
Pyatt’s horse came
to a whirling stop
FCT Sa
The desert hides no secrets from her chosen people. ...
EPUTY MARSHAL Herb Pyatt sun was still behind the Santa Rita’s, but in
sat his quiet horse beside a great . the valley below darkness gradually crept
gray boulder. From this mountain- upward from the deep arroyos. The world—
side above dry Bull Springs, he could see a Pyatt’s world—was coming to life.
hundred square miles of Circle C range. The
= 94°
He put a thin cigar in his mouth, lit it
=
; - APACHE BRAND is a 95
with care. Tilting his hat back he leaned on
the saddle-horn as his contemplative gaze slid
‘over the land. He scarcely saw it, though,
for his thoughts. were on Ward. Riding all
through a windy night, he had thought about
the man, and the necessity for speedy ac-
tion had urged him on. Action to stop the
floodtide of Apache anger poised to descend
upon the unsuspecting white settlers of the
Santa Rita Valley.
_ Suddenly, in this vast unpeopled land, he
saw movement. In a deep arroyo which led
upward to Bull Springs, an Indian on a white
horse was driving a cow and her calf. Pyatt
also saw something stir’ among the dark ~
shadows that clung to the dry washes. |
The Indian dropped a skillful loop. ‘The
calf tumbled gently, with hardly a sound. On
it quick, the Indian tied furiously.
The- cow, which had run on a é little,
stopped and came back, her head lowered.
Her call came up to Pyatt on the little warm
breeze. It was a plaintive sound.
Moving catlike, the Indian built his small
fire of mesquite sticks.
Now Pyatt could see who had made that
other movement. As a large man on a rangy
dun stepped from shadow into clear bright
_ sunlight, Pyatt recognized the burly figure ~
of the rancher, Tom Ward.
The Indian—and Pyatt knew him now to
be Nah-kah-yen, son of Bavispe, the Apache
—turned from his small fire with a smok-_ -
ing. iron. Pyatt watched him stride toward
the calf, which lay quietly a few feet away.
The sound of the shot that came yammer-
ing up set Pyatt's horse at a plunging run
_ back up the trail. Pyatt let him run it off,
then dismounted and eased back down the
trail to the big boulder afoot. But there was
nothing now that he could do. —
Se night it had seemed that he could.
Last night the wind, dry and dust-laden,
had pushed forward through the sullen dark-
ness. Off across the ragged edge of the Santa
Ritas, lightning had danced. The distant .
rumble of thunder hhad been a monotonous
threat creeping across the miles. And that
wild night wind had blown trouble for Herb
- Pyatt before it. .
He \ was a tall man with broad shoulders
and a driving walk, a man easily dice
— guishable in the small settlement into which 7
he’d ridden and dismounted. Holding down _
his gray stetson, he’d leaned far into the
breeze, quartering across the single broad
street, making his way with some difficulty.
He’d entered Rideout’s saloon on a gust of ©
dust.
_. “A bitter night,” he’d observed soberly.
“Not fit fer man or beast.” He batted his
eyes a couple of times, seen that Rideout,
the fat bartender, was alone.
Rideout had lifted pouched eyes from a.
dog-eared newspaper.
| “You can hope for better weather,” he’d—
said, and let his gaze drift to the paper again.
“There's always tomorrow.
“And toniorrow is always too late,” Pyatt:
had said. ““Where ts everybody ? Heard some-
one ride in awhile ago.’
- Rideout had said, “Nobody But an Indian -
would be out on a night like this. And him
only if he couldn’t send his squaw.” He'd
turned a frail page carefully “Says here
Congress might ratify Gcnent Davis s treaty
with Bavispe’s Apaches. That means they
can. live on the Santa Rita River delta for-
ever.
-Thoughttfully, Pyatt had Sak a cigar’
from his pocket, lit it. The smoke made a
pleasant fragrance in the room.
“How old is that newspaper?” he asked.
Rideout had looked at the date line. “Seven
_ years.”
“Thought so,’ Pyatt had said, talking
around his cigar. “Davis has been gane for
five.” He’d tilted his head, listening to the
voice of the wind around the adobe building.
“That's a good Apache, that Bavispe. He’s
proved that not - the good Indians are the
dead ones.’
“Not what Tom Ward thinks. He’s going
‘to move Bavispe off that land and take it
over for his Circle C “or know the reason
why. Of course, he can’t have it if co
gave it to the Indians.”
“Congress never got around to that. It’s
- still public land.”
“That's what I tried to tell ce to-
night,’ Rideout had said tonelessly, “but he
didn’t understand.” |
Ga -mouthed, Pyatt had stared at ia
as
g
ee
“—
3
=
96 _ TEXAS RANGERS
Then Rideout had looked up and called:
across Pyatt’s shoulder:
“Come on in, Bavispe.” And he’d folded
his newspaper.
‘Bavispe, the Apache leader, was rawhide
lean and powerfully built. Age had stopped
showing on him thirty years before. He’d
been wearing cotton shirt and pants and a
tall black hat set squarely on his head. His
hair was long and braided. There could be
no doubt he was a chief—he’d worn dignity
like a cloak,
Behind him; standing in the dim light cast
by the lamp on Rideout’s bar, Pyatt had seen
the forms of other Indians, w aiting patiently
outside the saloon. Standing in the windy
— street, unmoving.
“You fat white medicine ao Pyatt had
said grimly to Rideout, “I should have known
you were building tip to something. You
could have‘told me it was them: rode into
town!”
~ Rideout had grinned. “T wanted to get
_ you primed first. Bavispe thinks you can do :
something about his trouble.’
Pyatt and the silent Apache chief had
shaken hands. Pyatt had fumbled for ‘an-
other cigar, given it to Bavispe. ,
“Tt is long since [ visited the lodges of my
brother,” Pyatt had said gravely in the
Apache tongue. “Then there were no lines
of worry upon his face. Now it is creased,
and long with the marks of his thoughts.”
“Tt is because I am afraid,” the Apache
had replied, in words slow and measured.
He’d held his cigar away from his lips with
thumb and forefinger, spoken past it. “Once
the cavalry was our friend. Now General
Davis is gone, his. station filled by a weak
, man.”
a. PAvisre had turned his head and spat
upon the floor.
“T have heard,’ Pyatt had told him. _
“You have heard, too, that the beef- steal-
er, Ward, ‘seeks our rich farm land on which
to pasture his stolen herds?”
Pyatt had nodded carefully. It was an.ac-
— cepted: fact that Ward built his herds with
cattle smuggled from Mexico, where they
had been stolen from their owners.
“My son, Nah- kah-yen, a brave but unwise
—
Indian who has taken work with Ward tells
me of Ward’s plans,” Bavispe had said som-
berly. “I sought advice and help where once
I met with great aid and understanding—
the cavalry. They said, ‘We can do nothing.
See the marshal—maybe he will help you.
But these people are too busy. They have
no time for raggedy- -tailed Apaches.”
As he'd puffed on the cigar, each strong
drag had burned the dry tobacco down a
bright inch. His eyes had dulled as he stared
at Pyatt.
“For this cavalry,” he’d said, “aviege
has no liking. The United States Marshal
he does not know. But the deputy, Pyatt, ts
Bavispe’s brother. Bavispe said to his people, |
‘Pyatt will help.’ ” |
And right there was where he’d left it.
Pyatt had remained silent. Bayispe would
never understand that the land the Apaches
held was public land, that Congress, pro-
crastinating, had never ratified Davis’s
treaty. Davis had guaranteed Bavispe from
molestation, but he was .gone. And Ward,
once located on the Santa Rita delta, would
be hard to dislodge.
Pyatt knew what the cavalry did not = |
ize—that Ward's greed would set the terri-
tofy back twenty years. And the silent nights
_would echo with the haunting signals of Ba-
vispe’s rampaging Apaches closing in for the
dawn kill.
No, the cavalry’s way. was not the way to
deal with Bavispe. Nor with Ward.
General Davis would have known what
was needed. Ward needed to be rocked back
on his heels. Now! Before the desert spaces
would again surge with the screeches of
raiding Apaches, the desert washes again
run with the blood of innocent people whose
only crime would be belonging to the white
race. |
If Ward could be delayed, political pres-
sure brought to bear in Washington, Con-
gress might still make the Apathe secure. —
Rideout had reached into. the depths of
a sweating olla, handed over two. bottles of
lemon soda where they’d cooled. Pyatt had
reached for his, swung around to lean against
the bar. He'd tilted - his hat back. on his
head, a preoccupied gesture.
Slowly, — had said into the quiet,
APACHE BRAND» 7 | | 97
“You got it straight now, Herb,” and rolled
a cigarette. On his round face had been a
bland smile.
And Pyatt had made fis decision.
“Tomorrow, he’d said, “I will tak with
Ward,”
’ Bavispe had nodded gravely. “I°ask only
that you interest yourself in us, my brother.
If you fail, I cannot be held to account for
< ie ations ot my people.” He drained his
bottle, set it on the bar. Hane, he'd left
them abruptly.
Outside, briefly, had been only the sound
of wind si mud-and-straw roofs. Then the
noise of many running horses._had. swept
into the still room. The Apaches had gone
in the’ night, riding down the dusty breezes
into their desert.
Silence again had come to the saloon, ex-
cept for the slow drip-drip of water trick-
ling off the olla.
Then Rideout had spoken softly. “My lit-
tle white brother, you sure got your work.
cut out for you.”
Pyatt had smiled ruefully, tipping his hat
forward over his eyes. Shoving his lemon
soda aside, he'd said, “Give me a thinking
drink and shut up.”
“It'll take more than thinking, I’m afraid.”
Rideout had set out bottle and glass.
“Those people,” Pyatt had remarked,
“think a white man can do anything.”
“Not just any white man. You!”
“Yeah,” Pyatt had said, tilting the bottle
over the glass. “I know. Tomorrow I'll think
of something. .. .” |
OW, on the mountainside above Bull
Springs, he realized that he had not
thought of anything in time, and had arrived
too late to save Bavispe’s son, Nah-kah-yen.
But at least he could apprehend his killer:
He eased back to his horse. Swinging. up,
his plan made, quietly he came down the
trail. When concealment was no longer pos-
sible, he nudged his horse. They came off the
mountain at a high run.
Ward was bent over the calf. A branding-
iron was in his hand. He straightened quick-
ly when the sound of hammering hoofs
- reached his ears. The iron fell to the sand.
The look of complete surprise on his face
was still there when he moved over to his
horse and reached for the short rifle in its
saddle scabbard. |
~The horse, skittish from the smell of blood,
danced away. Ward followed. ee
Pyatt closed fast, his .44 ready in his hand.
“Hold it, Ward!” he shouted initd the
wind. ese,
But Ward, ina desperate move, succeeded
in scrabbling the carbine from its boot.
Whirling, he dropped to one knee. Sweep-
ing up the carbine, he pressed it into his
shoulder and fired.
Pyatt felt the wind of the bullet’s_pas-
sage as he drew down on the kneeling man,
fired. A running horse was no platform from
which to shoot, so he missed. His bullet
sprayed sand over Ward. He kneed his horse
directly at’the rancher. A few more jumps
and he would run the man down. -
He saw the bloom of smoke. His horse,
startled at the loud explosion under his nose,
bucked to a whirling, jumping stop. Pyatt,
unbalanced, plunged over the animal’s ears.
He struck the sand on his head and shoul-
der. Only his high hat saved him from a
cracked skull as he plowed into a jagged
rock. He blacked out.
The: sun, hot on his face, burned him
around finally. He came up out of it slowly,
letting consciousness and memory and pain
return as they would. He lay still until ev-
erything had come back to him. Only then
did he stir, feeling the soreness of his mus-
cles, the throbbingaache of his head. He tried
to sit up, and saw that he was tied, mummy-
like, with a rawhide riata. He was out of
circulation.
Bleakly he realized that he was alive now
only because of some planning of Ward’s
for Ward would well know his own life was
forfeit if Pyatt lived. Murder—even the
murder of an Apache—was no longer con-
doned in the Territory. Old Fort Yuma was
thronged with lifetime inmates who had
thought it was.
Twisting his head, Pyatt saw that Ward
was gone. The horses were gone. Nah-kah-
-yen’s body was gone. The cow and her calf
had gone, out of sight and out of earshot.
So Pyatt was alone in a vast baked area
through which no one ever, traveled, except
‘ ‘ "
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Fy hij daa Wiberg igs os ahs ak alk. ata h Se
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-_ perhaps Ward and bisa men. Ded there would
be no -help from them.
It became, then, only a satel of time.
_Ejither the sun, drawing every bit of moisture
. from his body, would finish him before he
could wear his way, somehow, through the
“ toughsleather rope that bound him, or Ward
would. He wondered why Ward had not al-
a done the job, but found no answer.
* He tried to figure Ward’s thinking. What
was the man doing now? What had he done
_ with Nah-kah-yen’s body? And with a rush
eof memory, Pyatt thought of Bavispe and
= ~ehis Apaches. Bitterly. For Pyatt had cer-
tainly done nothing to help their cause. at
. Bull Springs.
~The dried-up watering place lay on a
= broad shelf, elevated above the floor of the
sweeping Santa Rita River Valléy. Across
Se its width, through the heat haze that was
= srising, Pyatt could see the = green of Ba-
3 = = ‘ies s fields.
TORRE ow
Heatit
TERR oi a Lara
§
: head ached splittingly. 7
| ahem, — far out on ‘the valley a. 3
Bavispe, who had — so far from being
— the marauder of the desert he once had been,
+ _ keeping the whole Territory jumping in fear
and trembling. He’d made fabulous marches
over desert and mountain drawing his war-
‘riors together by smoke signal and mirror
| flash.
Micor flash !
JHE sun slanted down from the heavens.
It aimed a shaft ef light at Pyatt’s breast.
. The polished badge on his vest gave it back.
The glint of the exchange bothered him. He
shifted. A light reflection danced across the
dark mesquite with the movement. :
. Pyatt- came alive with hope. Rolling and
sliding, he made his hampered way to the
trunk of an ancient oak, worked himself into
a sitting position against it. Directing the
speck of light from his badge out across the
flat Santa Rita Valley, he rocked from side to
side. os
He Satin until tie = againet the rough
tree bark and his wrists in the tight bonds
’ . of the rawhide rope were scratched and bleed-
~ ing. He rocked until his buttocks were sore
and swelling. He rocked until every muscle
in his body was a vast pain, and his —_
a
: oS : a SS
another way, my brother,
-. brother °?”’
"TEXAS RANGERS ~-
there came: one — — = ight
Pyatt slumped.
The sun, turned from enemy to ally,
climbed higher. The leaves of the oak formed
a — of shade over him. Pyatt slept.
Nor did he awaken when Bavispe and his
men came. Perhaps he would not have known
of their arrival awake, for the manner of their
‘coming was that of the desert.
First there was nothing but the bound;
hurt, unconscious man lying by the hoary
bole of the aged oak. Then around him five
Apaches materialized out of the mesquites.
They were not dressed in the conventional
manner of peaceful men, but wore the
stripped-down garb of a readiness for war.
Bavispe, squatting, untied the lariat. Pyatt
awoke.
Standing, painfully retaving his bonds, he
stepped out of them. His mind was absorbing
the implications of the Apache war paint,
their glum silence. He was the first to break
it.
“Nah-kah-yen is dead,” he said. i
Looking into the dark, opaque eyes of
Bavispe he saw nothing there but hatred.
“We know,” Bavispe replied, waving his
arm in a shoulder-high gesture. “The desert
has no secrets from her chosen people.”’
“Where is Ward?” |
“Even now on the road to Santa Rita,
which he would have reached long ago if he
_had not stopped for drink at his house. And
if he had not gathered his men about him to
-escort him—and the body of my son—he
would be dead now.”’ There-was only danger
in his angry tones. |
Pyatt shook his head slowly. “There is
- he said.
Angrily, Bavispe spat. “The white man’s. —
way! Do nothing? Nothing, because Nah-
kah-yen was only an Apache? What kind of
a brother is this? Do you know a better way,
He used the word in a manner —
that showed his disgust.
“T do,” Pyatt said quietly. “If we can get
to Santa Rita before Ward can get done
whatever he plans to do.”’ There was grim
finality about the lawman now.
Some time later they came down the dust
‘of Kitchen Alley in Santa Rita. The lower-
ing sun was at their backs. Pyatt reined up |
APACHE BRAND» : a
before the Carson dhartase: swung off. He
looped his reins over the worn mesquite rail,
- next to the white horse, where flies were al-
ready thick on Nah-kah-yen’s stiffening body.
Pyatt wondered at the absence of people
in the street. Wearily he clumped into the
saloon. Here he saw the reason for the
vacant town. The place was packed with
intent men. No head turned as he entered.
Ward was dancing an angry dance.
hoarse.
Pyatt relaxed against she door frame. Be-
hind him in the street, the skeptical Apaches
' waited stoically. He fingered a lone cigar
from his pocket as he listened to Ward’s
ranting. Standing easily, Pyatt let pain and
weariness seep gently out of him.
Were S words flowed rapidly. A bottle
of whisky was in his hand and he care-
lessly brandished it as he talked. Some of
the liquor spilled to the splintery pine floor.
He was shouting, “I come up to Bull
Springs and come up on that damned Apache
“branding one of my calves! Putting the
brand of them damned Bavispe Apaches on
it. He started to come around at me with
a knife! I shot him in self-defense.”
He took a long drag from the bottle and
glared about. He did not see Pyatt by the
door, nor the Apaches in the street outside.
“T tell you men it’s a thieves’ nest we
have in our middle. Stealing’s in their blood.
I give that sneaking Nah-kah-yen a job, and
what does he do? Turns around and steals
my calves to build up that Apache herd! No
telling how many he has taken—him and his
kind—from me and you and everybody who’s
got a spread.”
His voice rose to a frantic shout. “Steal-
ing my cattle! Them Apaches ain’t human
—never will be! They take what you give
them from your one hand, and steal out of
the other when you ain't looking! Davis’s
treaty says they keep their lands as long as
they abide by our laws, but they’re breaking
’em! And Davis—he ain’t here any more.”
Calm now, he turned to the bar.- He set
the bottle down, letting what he'd said sink
in. =
_ And Pyatt saw his reasoning.
responsibility for moving the Apaches off Pee
their lands. |
Get the other ranchers worked up, and he 2 =
His
face was mottled, and his loud voice was
your
So a Rn ay EERE REE Ce Le EL OS SRE
Ward had never EE to. ‘thy. all the 2
His intention was obvious now. ~_
movement would be the result of mob action,
The strategy was effective. Men) were eying i
-each other in sober thought. — = eae
Whites had a natural deter te the i
dians who lived among them. In cases such , _
as this, the Indian was always wrong unless — ea
he could prove himself right. There were 0
few white men interested in the welfare ar <2 ee
the tribes. The mistrust came from a la: “k £ é
easerssineitie From that, and from-mem-
ories of. pist Apache atrocities. ~~ .
Graduclly, unrest crept into the~ om a
: ' ; a ayes
Tension grew stronger. Men shifted ~ tin oe
Ty §
easily. a ee
Pyatt, who could” Read signs. in. 1 hates
better then most, read these and knew it was
time for him to act. :
~ “Nah-kah- -yen was murdered!” He said it —
quietly, but his words exploded in the’ room hs
like thunderous gunfire. “Killing an Indian :
nowadays is a Federal offense. Ward, you're
under arrest for the murder of “Nah- kah-
yen |"? > | i
BLN Cp :
iS Sad
hes PE AN NT Sh) fe Pe
“
Matt Aah Lk
Ward came around on Pyatt instantly, ce
grim-faced with the knowledge that his guilt — <
had caught up with him, Pyatt saw what
he’d been watching for deep in Ward’s eyes.
He moved out from the door. eee 2
Ward crouched and leaned forward. ee 3
“What do you mean ?”’ he yelled. ““Where’s —
evidence? It's
mine !”’ :
Pyatt didn’t raise his voice. “$f mean that Se
I was above Bull Springs when -you shot 3
Nah-kah-yen as he was about to brand one Se -
of your calves—with your brand. And you ——™
your word against
~ shot him down! ’ He held a short pause, © | =
eying Ward.
“And you would have killed =
me if you’d been a better marksman!” — 2 aS
Here were honest ranchers trying to build =
a new country on foundations that in part a
were rotten because Ward and men like him
had been the first to settle it. Ward and his
ilk had rustled and smuggled cattle from the = iS
- Mexicans and from each other. a
They had 3
fought the Indians and themselves, had lived — :
and died violently. eS a
But these later settlers were opposed to. 3
-
100° | TEXAS RANGERS
Alene: They were opposed to further im-
positions on nomadic Indians who had al-
ready been driven from their natural habitat
and forced to settle. These were the solid
citizens, interested in square dealing, know-
ing that nothing strong can ever be erected
upon underpinnings of deceit.
Ward sensed the direction of their thought,
their sudden shift.
Desperately he yelled, ‘““More lies! Every-
body knows Pyatt is an Indian lover!”
He stretched out his arms in appeal, looked
about questioningly. But the eyes into which
he looked were veiled: And he knew he had
lost.
? See anger was on him. He
knew that for him the gates of Yuma
were opening.
Carefully, Pyatt raised his arm, his thumb
pointing back over his shoulder. “The bullet
in Nah-kah-yen’s body would not lie. Nor
the marks on my body where you tied me!”
Watching Ward’s eyes, Pyatt knew when
the man passed the bounds of reason, and
the killer instinct took charge. Ward made
his play fast: 2
His hand slapped sharply hipward. It
knocked the butt of his right-hand gun down.
The barrel came up. He fired—through the
bottom of the holster. He drew his left- hand
gun.
The bullet splintered the door frame be-
hind Pyatt. Ward tried another shot. Too—
late.
.Pyatt had made his draw carefully. His
aim was certain. His bullet caught Ward in
the chest.
Ward took a slow step. His legs crum-
pled, let him down. His second, and last,
shot ploughed a trench in the scuffed floor.
Symbolically, he fell almost at the feet of
Bavispe who had slid in unnoticed.
“T am sorry that I doubted, my brother,”
==. |
_ Bavispe said into Pyatt’s ear, and slipped as
unobtrusively away. 7
Almost before the first excited men tum-
bled from the saloon to the street, the Apache
chief, with his men and the body of Nah-
kah-yen, was gone. .. .
A couple of evenings later Pyatt rode
wearily into Dos Cabezones town and dis-
mounted before Rideout’s saloon door. The
night breeze coming up from Sonora was
soft. The air was clear. His tired gaze
around the ragged horizon found no flicker
of lightning.
He pushed inside. Rideout put down a -
_ frayed BEWspapet and then set out bottle and
glass.
_ Pyatt tipped the bottle, watched the liquid
flow. Somberly he glanced up from under
his stetson.
“Rideout, old friend,” he said wonder-
ingly, “maybe you'll tell me how these things
operate. What Ward didn’t count on was
that in all this wide-open Territory, big and
empty as it is, there would be someone in
that particular place at that particular time -
to see him. A few minutes, a few miles
either way, I’d not have been there, and he’d
have done what he wanted—roused the set-
_tlers to kill and drive out the Apaches.”
He tipped his head back and tossed = his
drink.
Rideout said softly, “And you slapped
that. A white man kills an Indian, a white
man kills the killer. That’s the kind of jus-
tice that Bavispe can understand and believe
in. It'll save the Indians’ land, maybe even
until Congress can get around to legalizing
it for them. And”—he spoke more softly—_
“Herb! Maybe some don’t know it, but some
time they will. You saved an awful lot of
bearded white throats from being cut from
ear to ear, a lot of brains from being roasted
over a slow fire, while they’re still in pase
skulls.” 2
areal
—
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The sheriff led two oe bearing two corpses
A Bullet for the Paiute Kid
By Tf. C. McCLARY
T HIGH NOON, Sheriff John Gaunt street through the glare of lemon-colored
got back to Silver Bow leading two light and wished it were night so that he
foundered ponies bearing two badly bul- could avoid the curiosity seekers.
let-riddled corpses. From the edge of The town wouldn’t know that he’d
town, he looked down the chrome gray missed a man. But he knew it, and the
Even the woman who loved him could not convince Sheriff John _-
Gaunt that a man with a shady past was not necessarily all bad
101
fd
aa
102
knowledge was like lye working in him.
It had been a prolonged running fight and
the other man’s horse had been too fast.
Gaunt had not even caught a good glimpse
of him. But the man’s horse had been a
palomino. And this being cayuse country,
a man on a palomino would be easily
spotted.
He looked neither to scat nor left as
he rode into town. Calls of homage from
the onlooking townsfolk did nothing to
ease the hard containment of his blunt
square face. It was a rough mood he was
in—even for him. His face looked as if
he considered their praise akin to insult.
From the tail of his eye he saw Chris
Oliver lounging back against the wall of
the Wells Fargo office riffling silver dol-
lars in his limber fingers. Oliver looked
all jingle-jangle, and his handsome face
was seamed with an amused smirk as he
read Gaunt’s mood. 7 X
Oliver had his own ranch but he was
hard to peg. Either he was luckier than
the devil or the best trader this side of
kingdom come—or else he had closer deal-
ings‘ with outlaws than just a friendly
deal or a game of poker. He had been a
hell-raiser at times, but had always cov-
ered himself against any charge on which
the sheriff could pick him up.
_ It was a matter that irked Gaunt, for
1e buckaroo had too much money at odd
mes, and was too smug about the way
he came by it. It was Gaunt’s conviction
that those with the wild streak were all
potential or uncaught outlaws anyway,
their activities limited only by their op-
_ portunities.
In his book, they were all
marked for a sixgun funeral or the gal-
lows, and the quicker they got it, the
beticr for the community.
- Gaunt thought, damned funny cs, is
around and two-bit rich. He sure never
ran that cavvy across the Green!
It was one of the small facets of town
life that he noted in the course of things
~and pigeon holed for what it might be
worth some time in the future. He saw
his deputy duck under the hitchrack in
we. 5 dees id ae spice and Sek. WARE for
him, — ee -
left.
TEXAS RANGERS
His deputy knew his oe He es
-nodded at the Jackson corpses and asked,
“What do you want me to do with ’em,
John?”
“Tag ’em and lay? em out in the jail a
spell,” the sheriff said.
“They’re going to stink some and we’ve
got some small fry prisoners, ’ the deputy
pointed out.
A twitch of ruthless contempt jerked
at Gaunt’s leathery face. “Then let ’em
smell what they call big fry and learn
all snakes stink the same in the end!”’
he growled. :
The deputy caught the lead rein and
nodded. “Nothing important since you
beaut of a palomino.”
“A palomino?” sgl repeated on a
sharp note.
The deputy iooksd at him with curio-
sity. “Seventeen hands. Tall horse. Mean
anything?”
“Likely means he’s a dened Seis:
thief!” Gaunt snorted. Even with his
~ deputy, he could not unbend. He could
not bring himself to admit that any crim-
inal had outsmarted him. ‘When did he
come in?” he added. =
“Two days back this noon. Long run
and came in wet. But his pony wasn’t
gaunted.”
- Gaunt’s hard mouth compressed. That
would have been a mighty fast run from
where the third outlaw cut out from the
Jacksons. But a rider who knew the
country might have made it.
Bim E ORDERED his deputy to stable his
i pony and angled across the street
for Donchue’s saloon. He swung stiffly
from his saddle, hoisting his belts but not
limbering. He glowered bristlingly at
men who drifted toward him, rebuffing
their curiosity and stopping. ‘hone dead
in their tracks.
Corrinne James was a janes thing -
though. She came from Adler’s Notions
Store swiftly, the dark beauty of her
face showing both relief and worry.
“John!” she called.
He'd seen her, of course. He saw every
Chris Oliver got back riding one S
movement on the landscape. But he had
set his steps for Donohue’s, and now he
turned back grudgingly.
“Did you want to dodge me?” she
asked with nettlement.
“Well, I am a mite grimy,” he said.
“I had meant to stop by later if I’m still
welcome.”
“Welcome?” she asked. “You know you
always are!”
He made a gesture. “You were a bit
sharp that I took off after the Jacksons.”
She colored faintly and then put a
woman’s guards on her expression. “T
guess a woman shouldn’t concern herself
with sheriff’s_ business,” she smiled
apologetically. “Come by later. . .” She
broke off and her eye sharpened. “John,
you've been hurt!”
He scowled and growled, “Dang your
sharp eyes! It’s nothing I even want
mentioned. I'll ride out toward sun-
down.” 3
She nodded to indicate she understood
his mood, pressed his shoulder and turned
upstreet. He stood a moment, frowning,
wondering how it was possible that she
could love him and still think the hard
things of him she did. Yet he knew that,
for all her popularity, she had no deep
feelings for any other man.
He went into Donohue’s saloon, had a
double drink and left by the back door
to avoid any of the curious who might
drift. A little later he was mounting
the alley stairs to Doc Sawyer’s office.
Doe dropped his head to peer over his
glasses at Gaunt as the sheriff entered.
“Figured you might be coming up, from
the way you ¥ot off that pony,” the doc-
tor said. 7
Gaunt knuckled back his hat and stood
-with one balled fist on his hip. “That
plain?” he asked roughly. ;
“To a doctor, yes,’ Sawyer grunted.
“T don’t reckon anybody else would know
you're toting lead.” He jerked his rum-
pled head at a table. “Strip and lie out
and we'll see how long you’ve got to
live.”
“Long enough,” Gaunt told hip’ “to
put a few more lobos where they belong!”
A BULLET FOR THE PAIUTE KID
~“You’re -a hard man, John,
103
Doe examined a scalpel and a probe.
"he opined
with professional privilege. “Death’s a
high price for a little hell raising the
boys did five-hundred miles from home.
And maybe there were some things to
be said for them.”
Gaunt snorted. “They were the wild
breed,” he said. “There isn’t an ounce
of decency or honest — in any one
of their kind!”
Doc lanced his side and Gaunt winced
but locked his solid jaws and lay mo-
tionless. At the end of the cutting, he
sat up and scowled. “Boot hill is the
only treatment for them!”
“What?” Doe queried puzzled, then
grinned. “Oh! The outlaw brand! Well,
I’ve known some who weren’t all bad.”
Gaunt’s eyes blazed at him coldly.
“You've know some I haven’t then!”
Doc finished dressing his wound and
poked him in the shoulder. “You watch
out that hardness doesn’t settle in your
arteries. It has been the undoing of some
pretty fine men.’
Gaunt’s answer was a look of cold an-
ger. It raged him that Doc Sawyer could
have a charitable thought for any of the
wild breed, or be critical of him, for his
unyielding contempt for them.
“They’re all snakes!” he said.
all bad!”’
His voice was harsh, resistant to argu-
ment. Like anybody else, he could have
taken the easy way himself—but he
hadn’t. And he had no use for any weak-
ness in a man coupled with a burning
hatred for the wild bunch and the outlaw
brand.
HERIFF GAUNT used the back alley
to his house furious that he’d been
shot and determined to squelch any at-
tempt by maudlin spinners of outlaw
sagas to build up a legend about the
toughness of the Jacksons.
They’d given him a fight, but he’d not
admit they’d been tough or shown any
courage. They’d run before him like
jackrabbits until their ponies began to
See
“There
are big ones and little ones, but they’ re
104
wind and they had to take a stand. It
was like the breed that one of their num-
ber—the third rider he hadn’t caught—
should desert them before the end.
He entered his house by the back way
and managed to get by Mrs. Moffett, his
housekeeper, who’d already heard he was
back and had heated some water so he
could bathe and was preparing some
vittles for him. He bathed and ate and
took a nap. When he awakened refreshed,
day had shifted to evening’s pastel light,
~and he was feeling pretty good again.
He walked to his office, did the routine
work which had accumulated during a
full week’s absence, and checked in the
Jackson corpses. He stopped to buy some
cigars, evading the curious questions
of the cigar clerk, then went to the stables
for a fresh pony. |
Corrinne James lived on a strip of bench
’ Jand at the bend of the valley. Privately,
Gaunt was proud of her way with men,
so he was neither surprised nor disturbed
at the sound of a guitar and singing he
heard as he rode toward her house—until
he saw the two ponies tethered at the
corral. One a cayuse—the other a palo-
mino! His gaze rivetted on the two
mounts. The palomino was a true beauty,
as his deputy had said—short-barreled,
long-legged, powerful-chested and intelli-
gent-faced. It was a mustang, but almost
a complete throw-back to some truly
great Barb ancestor.
He looked at the brand, recognized it
had been overworked, and doubted if the«
new brand actually existed. However, it
would prevent identification of the horse’s
true ownership. He looked it over for
some sign of gaunt his deputy might
have missed and found none. But he did
not let the fact weigh in Chris Oliver’s
favor, except as sign that Oliver was the
__ kind of horseman who knew how to ride.
and treat his horse, which most did not.
In a different man, he might have ad-
mired the point. But his distrust of
Oliver made him attribute the trait to
softness—the driveling sentimentality for
horseflesh that so often went with the
worst of the bad breed and the sneakiest
TEXAS RANGERS
of bushwhackers. His chief impression
was of the pony’s form and value. In
twenty-five-dollar horse country, this
pony was still worth five-hundred dollars.
He swung toward the house and found
Oliver watching him from a corner of the
stoop, strumming a guitar. He gave the
instrument a discordant plink as the
sheriff started toward him, then strolled
out of sight around the corner.
Corrinne greeted Gaunt with the easy
smile of their close acquaintanceship.
But there was no answering smile on his
face when he saw her two visitors. He |
said gruffly to Oliver, who had returned
with her, “Thought you were running a
cavvy over beyond the Green to trade?”
Oliver’s dark eyes mocked him. Quite
aside from the girl, he took wild-humored
pleasure in goading Gaunt over his pas-
sion for law and order. He laid his guitar
on a table and built himself a smoke.
“Well, I started out,” he acknowledged,
“but I am not the bear for long riding
that you are, Sheriff. ee I traded my
string nearer.’
Gaunt’s gray eyes were hard as a cold
winter sky. “For the palomino?”
LIVER nodded and grinned as he
lighted his smoke. ‘Good pony.
You’d have been back sooner and lighter
if the Jacksons had been riding ponies
like him.” ,
Gaunt bristled. “It wasn’t the Jacksons’
ponies let them down. It was their yellow
guts!”
Oliver raised his eyebrows. “That so?
I heard in town the ponies came in found-
ered.”
The sheriff darkened angrily. “You
got any idea any horse in the world will
get a criminal away from me, just try
riding ahead of me sometime!” he warned |
cole: eee
“Why,” Chris Oliver hic. “that
could well happen, Sheriff, you take atter
a Man so easy.’
The girl put in, “Boys!
ning a battleground!”
~ Oliver made a bland gesture. “Not |
my fault your friend wants to keep law |
I’m not run-_
aS A BULLET FOR THE PAIUTE =
and order for the whole United States,
Corrinne. The Jacksons never built any
- trouble hereabouts, and everybody knows .
it. That was just an out-state flyer the
sheriff took so serious.”
be
gone,
“Some more flyers came in while I was
Gaunt rasped, “some for horse
stealing.”
The girl flamed with embarrassment,
but Oliver just laughed. “There goes
your loan of the palomino, Corrinne!” he
told her. “I wouldn’t want you to risk
being picked up for a horse thief.”
~He plinked his guitar, slung it over
his shoulder and jerked his head at Dan
Wright, his partner. “Come along, son,
before the law decides to lock us up for
singing.”
The girl walked them to the corner of
the stoop and stood there while they
dusted off into the waning light of sun-
down. She returned with quiet anger on
her face. ‘What did you have to say a
thing like that for, John?” she demanded.
“Are you getting so warped with hate
that a man can’t even make a good horse
trade without you getting suspicious?”
He cut the air with the side of his
hand and frowned impatiently. “Dang
it, Corrinne. Why do you keep on stand-
ing-up for the wild bunch? Don’t tell
me he got that pony in trade for a flea-
bitten, half-broke, mustang-rough string!”
“He traded it,” she stated icily, “off
A. T. Tabbert!”’
“Where did you learn that?” he asked.
“Chris told me!”
“He told you?” Gaunt guffawed.
“It’s easy enough to check!” she point-—
ed out.
Gaunt’s humor shut off like a tap.
“Fortunately for Oliver, it isn’t. A. T.
Tabbert died a week ago EORSONY at
High Falls.”
Her body went taut and her face pale
with momentary confusion. Then her
loyalty refuted the insinuation and she
“said steadfastly, “I still believe Chris!”
His pride wouldn’t take that. He re-
_ jected her opinion flatly. He said bluntly,
“If that’s the way you feel, I will stay out
of your way until I can make you see
sides.
you're wrong.”
He bowed stiffly and tapped off the
stoop, knowing her hand stretched out
to stop him, but not stopping. Her dis-
trust of his judgment and her refusal
to recognize the rightness of his hatred
were things that struck at the very core
of his self confidence. =
URING the summer he saw her often
in town but he never permitted him-
self to be caught alone with her.
knew she saw a good deal of Chris Oliver.
And the knowledge gnawed at his in-
But* the fact just made things
tougher for him when rustlers began
raiding the next county, sometimes over-
lapping into his jurisdiction, and he
learned that one of the rustler ponies was
a tall palomino.
By rights, he considered, he should
pick up Chris on suspicion—or on some
minor charge—and beat the truth out of
him. But, because of Corrinne, he couldn’t.
Nothing Oliver might ever Sdn would.
fully convince her that Gaunt had not
gone after him out of jealousy and hatred.
He had to do this thing the hard way.
He had to hit the trail with nothing but
a bare suspicion that the rustling outfit
was the Dewars, a wild-horse hunting
outfit that Chris occasionally rode with.
Six grueling weeks on the trail convinced
him that his suspicion must be right.
Most of the six -weeks he had been
without a fresh horse, sometimes without
water, often without food. Three times
he had to turn tail and run before the
rustlers’ guns, an act he hated himself
for. Another three times he had stand-
off fights with them across gulches. Once
he roused the neighboring sheriff’s jeal-
ousy and had to swallow being warned
out of the county like any common saddle-
bum.
_ But then, in the far distance, ene sun-
down, he made out the dust and flashing
horns of a small herd trailing over coun-—
try where no herd should have been.
It was being trailed by three men, one of .
whom rode a palomino,
He stopped against the screen 6 a hill |
&
He
105° __
-
and watched, his teeth setting edge to edge
with core-deep satisfaction. He had known
he was right, yet now he knew that Cor-
rinne’s stubborn defense of Oliver had
thrown a doubt of his own judgment into-
him. Well, there was no more doubt.
There was the proof, winding off along the
thin, uncertain trail up into the hardrock
country—rustled cattle for sure, and a
rider on a palomino. He’d catch Oliver
red-handed and make him crawl, and
show him up to Corrinne for just what he
was.
Now, by gawdamighty, he’d make up
for lost time. This was still the next
county, but no herd could be held up in
that rock country. The rustlers were
using an old antelope pass over into his
own bailiwick’s back country,
there were some well-watered holes with
tall, sun cured grasses.
He felt the grim temptation to follow
the trai] straight through from where he
was. But it would be a small saving of
miles, and it was rock trail and his pony
was badly gaunted. He bit down his im-
patience and decided to skirt this side of
the hills and go out from Silver Bow.
There'd be nothing lost. There were only
two ways in or out of that back country,
_ and the rustlers would be taking it easy,
trying to keep their beef fattened up.
He cut down-country through the long
still afterglow of sundown and rode on
through the cool stillness of twilight. The
stars came out to put their pale blue light
behind the solid darkness of the hills.
There had been a time when a scene like
this never failed to arouse in him tender
- thoughts of Corrinne. But now he thought
‘ with vindictive savagery of. Chris Oliver,
and of the way he’d trail him, drive him,
smoke him out, and make Hind own up
to his yellow guts and treachery.
About nine o’clock; he arrived at the
Murdough spread. His hoarse-voiced call
echoed against Murdough’s ranch house
and he was hailed in. Hobbling stiffly into
the ranch house doorway’s yellow light,
~ he heard Murdough mutter, “Good lord,
3 it’s Gaunt and: he’s sure gaunted! Fetch
_ the bottle anu shake up the cook.”
baa ed
where
106
IE BIG RANCHER reached an arm
around his shoulders and helped him
inside. Shortly, his daughter appeared
with the bottle, and put more logs on the
fire. Suddenly Gaunt realized for the
first time, he was shivering. He scowled,
“Mite cooler up in the hills than I figured.”*
Murdough chuckled, “Come off! You’re
just plumb wore out from too much sad-
dle. You stay here and vittle up a few
days.”
The sheriff downed the fiery liquid and
gave a thankful bark of breath. “No time.
I’ll stoke up and borrow a fast pony if
you’ve got one to spare.”
“Take mine,” Murdough offered. “But
don’t you dast get him shot up, Sheriff!”
The cook stuck his head in to announce,
“Steak, bacon, eggs, homefries and bis-
cuits.” Did Gaunt want flapjacks as well?
Gaunt said no. He wanted to travel
light. Passing into the dining room, he
got a look at himself in the mirror. He
looked like a corpse that had come back
to life. But after the meal and another
- drink and a cigar, he began to feel better.
And with the return of his strength the -
anger settled inside of him, came to a
' boil again.
He slept a while, the dead apered
sleep of fatigue. Then Murdough woke
him, stoked him with black and bitter
java and led him out to his fresh saddled
pony. “Take it easy, John,” he advised.
“A few rustled cows ain’t worth any
man’s life.”
“They'll be worth the rustlers’ necks!”
the sheriff promised grimly.
Murdough frowned slightly and looked
down at the ground’s darkness. “Truth
is, for rustlers, they ain’t been too~bad,”
he allowed. “There’s been no murder or
mayhem that I know of. They’ve cut their
stock out. smart. They haven’t run off
everything in sight to leave half of it dying
along the trail.”
Gaunt’s eyes drilled him. He said final- ,
ly, “Reason you ranchers keep getting
rustled and killed, is you’re all soft until
some sidewinder stings you good!”
“Well, mebbe,” the rancher agreed.
“But I always figure, there but for the
&
grace of God goes me, except I got off
on the right foot.”
“They pick the foot they start on,”
Gaunt said flatly. “The pattern is always
the same. They wind up shot or in a
‘noose, but decent folk get hurt first.” .
He left his blunt pronouncement hang-
ing in the air and rode out. Three hours
later, he angled down across the James
place. Noting the downstairs alight, he
sent in his shrill trail call.
The door flung open and Corrinne’s
voice hailed him, “John, for God’s sake,
stop!” |
He swung over to her stoop and saw
the flash of her skirts as her dark shadow
darted toward him. “Trouble?” he asked.
“Not your pa?”’
“No, it’s not that kind,” she answered
stridently. “It’s — Chris Oliver.”
Ugliness welled up in him. “He been
giving you trouble?”
She looked up at him with a little gasp
of denial. ‘“No—it’s that we’ve given it
to him! The Paiute Kid hit town yester-
day—gunning for you, I heard. Tonight,
I had to tell Chris... .”
She broke off and he thought he made
out her blush in a random ray of light.
Then. she said with force, “Well, I told
him you and I might never marry, but
there'd never be another man for me
either way. He rode into town to have
a few drinks, I guess. He heard the Paiute
Kid had made some slurring remark about
you and me in a saloon. Bob Engels just
rode out to say he’s building trouble.”
Gaunt leaned a little in the saddle and
lifted her chin with his calloused hand.
“Chris Oliver was here tonight?” he de-
manded. “He brought me home from
Hettie Hutching’s shower,” she said.
“What about it?”
AUNT FELT dizzy. The revelation
‘had shocked him more than any
blow he’d ever had. -It meant it had not
been Oliver riding that pass on a palo-
mino. And yet, if he’d met Oliver on
trail, he’d have shot it out with him in
the certain belief that it had been him.
Worse, from the standpoint of the right-
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THE ALADDIN CO. inciean
ness of his judgment, Chris Oliver now
was walking into something that was
pure venom. Whatever he might be at
his craven end, alive and standing, the
Paiute Kid was greased lightning and
sheer rattlesnake. It took flaming, drunken
temper or ice-cold nerve to breast a gun-
hand like the Kid.
No, not even for glory, not even in
anger or to impress the girl, was it pos-
sible that one of Oliver’s breed would
take the risk. There’d be an angle to it.
It was probably some kind of elaborate
story that others of the wild bunch would
build, even though there’d never been
a bullet spent. Or maybe, with rotgut val-
| or, Chris hoped to fort up in darkness
and catch the Kid when he formed a
lighted target—if he didn’t get buck fever
and get blasted igto a gory end.
It had to be some setup like that, or
else Gaunt’s whole basis of law and
rightness and his relentless hatred of the
wild breed would be proven false. It
would make a mockery and crime of
every unnecessary arrest and killing he’d
ever committed. It would utterly man-
gle his own self respect, his pride in his
merciless opinion.
He reacted with cold, unyielding sus-
picion. Either the whole story was an
outright fable, or some kind of setup
méant to trap him. Maybe they’d had
word he was coming in, and this was
meant for a squeeze play to catch him
off guard and in the middle.
The girl laid her face against his hand
and her cheek was damp. “John, he isn’t
in the class of the Paiute Kid! It would
-be murder. Don’t let it happen!”
He said with bitter flintiness, “So Pm
too tough to marry, but not too tough to
count on in a pinch! Well, don’t worry.
Nothing’s going to happen.”
She mis-read his words and pressed his
hand. “Thank you, John! You can be big
—you can be as hard on yourself as on
another man. That’s meant a lot to me.”
Awkward gentleness broke his tough-
ness for an instant and he put a fond
hand upon her head. Then he gave a
man’s tight drawn smile and swung his
108
pony, and rode at a dead run toward the
glow of town.
_ He came into town fast, but not too fast
to cut sign. The whole town was gath-
ered with its attention riveted on Dono-
hue’s. The excitement of a fight—that
mean, bloodthirsty excitement of the cau-
tious without the guts to make their own
fights—drifted off the crowd in a raw
smell.
He racked without attracting any at-
tention. The crowd, eyes and ears intent
upon what was happening inside the
saloon, did not see him dismount, rack
his horse. Taking time to limber up, he
saw Oliver’s palomino nearby and cursed
it. It was fresh, and there wasn’t a chance
it was the same horse he’d seen with the
rustlers.
He splayed his gun hand to the fullest,
felt stiffness in the muscles, and set his
mouth grimly. Except for Oliver, he
would have floated around town awhile,
letting word of his arrival work on the
Paiute Kid, and then approach with cau-
tion. His fight with the Kid was a grudge
match. Gaunt had sent the Kid to the
pen for seven years. Now the Kid had
broken out and was hell-bent reckless.
The present circumstances forced him
to'act now. It was foolhardy and he knew
it as he shouldered through the crowd.
He stood outside the batwing door a mo-
ment, looking over the open tops into
the blaze of the saloon’s lights to adjust
his vision. Then he spit, splayed his hand
again and pushed in.
He stepped quietly to the side of the
door and stood looking through the slow-
ly waving layers of thick blue smoke,
keening the strange quiet of the saloon.
Tension and danger hung in the air with
the effect of a harsh sound. Four tables
_ of men had stayed at cards, but they were
not even seeing the cards they dealt. A
number of other men had found excuse
to move with their beers to the long side
wall. A few had stayed at the bar, strutt-
ing their bravado, but they stood grotes-
quely taut, half crouched, and ready to
jump at the first shot.
[Turn page]
109
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Paiute Kid leaned with his left
forearm on the bar, his balance so
sensitive that his position was more of
a bend than a rest. His right thumb rest-
ed like a feather on his belt. Irritation
and contempt marked his cruel and vi-
cious face, but his pale blue eyes were
watching Oliver in the mirror. He was
aman who’d come here for a special reck-
less reason and now found himself being
sidetracked. He didn’t like it, but his
patience was wearing mighty thin.
Ten feet this side of him, Chris Oliver
stood at the bar alone. He stood upright
and his knees were stiff and, under his
dark range-burn, he was pale as a wan- |
ing moon. His voice was tight, but he
-wasn’t drunk. He knew just what he was
saying, and it was taking cold guts under
that tension for him to go on talking.
He said to Donohue, “Don’t figure
Gaunt will come back until he brings
what he went after. He’s got more guts
than any two-bit gun-slick he ever gunned
or jugged. There ain’t one yet he ain’t
made crawl like a yellow pup.”
Grudging respect smashed stormily
through the sheriff. It was not as any
favor to him that Oliver was doing this,
but he had the guts to do it for the girl,
and he was doing it in such a way as to
keep her name out of things. That took
both guts and a bigness that Gaunt would
never have admitted a man like Oliver
could have. oe
The Paiute Kid sucked a long breath
through his teeth. His mouth flattened
and went thin. His eyes were bleak and
narrowed and his nostrils pinched. Some
subtle change of balance showed in his
posture although not a muscle seemed
to move.
Gaunt sucked in his own long breath
and moved out into the light. “Gaunt is
back!” he rasped. ‘Stand clear, Oliver!”
The Paiute Kid froze for the briefest
instant, then spun on the ball of one foot.
He dropped into a half crouch as his hand
darted to his gun. He had Gaunt dead-
spotted, but Oliver swung out from the
bar, blocking the line of fire. _ ee
Gaunt heard the Kid’s violent curse
110
-as the Kid’s gun barked. The shot lifted
Oliver and twisted him in midair, but
he cleared his gun and answered as he
dropped. The Kid winced and cursed
again and put another shot at him, but
he’d been stung by Oliver’s shot and his
aim was not good. Oliver twisted like
a corkscrew and tried to trigger, but the
control had gone out of him and he
buckled suddenly to the floor.
The Kid’s murderous eyes glinted
through space where Oliver had stood.
His lips jerked out in a wicked smile
and vengeance blazed up through him.
“Now you... !” he rasped at Gaunt and
shot.
The shot smashed Gaunt squarely in
the middle. It jarred his solid body, but
his hand never stopped its draw. He
ripped his gun out and lurched sidewise
as the Kid’s gun barked again. He felt
the shot rip through his side, but he
caught his balance. Cold fury filled his
eyes, and his own gun belched in unison
with the Kid’s fast trigger.
The Kid’s mouth gaped. For a moment,
he didn’t move. Then the black hole
in the middle of his forehead began to
gush and he pitched face down into the
-slops and sawdust, bounced once, and
then did not move.
Gaunt clapped his hand -to his belly,
lurched over and kicked the gun out of
the Kid’s hand. He knew the signs. The
Kid would never move again. He stood
there wavering, looking down at Oliver,
still holding his smoking gun.
He muttered low at Oliver, “What gave
you this bright idea?” 7
Mockery. showed through Oliver’s
pain, ‘“Mebbe I just love you, Sheriff!”
Gaunt frowned a minute, then nodded
at some tough inward decision and ad-
mitted grudgingly, “It was still a brave
thing to do. Ill say that to Corrinne.”
The taunting mockery washed out of
Oliver’s face leaving puzzlement in its
place. After a moment he said, “Gaunt,
you've been mighty hard upon other men.
I never figured you’d be as hard upon
yourself if the time came.”
[Turn page]
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‘Maybe I’ve been too hard,” Gaunt
admitted glumly. This was something
he had to say, particularly to this man,
even if it tore his pride out of him. “May-
be there is such a thing as a little high
spirits, or bad company, or smart money
that still doesn’t make a man yellow or
crooked.”
He gave Oliver a weld. probing look.
“You ‘didn’t buy that teks off Tabbert?”
“No,” Oliver rasped after a minute.
“But I traded it fair. I got it out of a
cavvy of sixteen others like it. I got it
cheap because somebody figured it would
confuse things to have a couple of palo-
minos on the landscape.”
“It could have gotten you killed,”
| Gaunt told him.
—<_
LIVER smiled ironically. “You mean
with the Jacksons? They ran me
off. Said it wasn’t my mix.”
“That was the final clincher in Gaunt’s
mind that Oliver had nothing to do with
the rustling. He booted his gun. He said
- on a flatted note, “I wouldn’t know about
that. There was no other rider with the
Jacksons when I got them.”
Appreciation dawned in Oliver’s eyes.
He said, “Gaunt, maybe there is bad com-
pany. There won’t be no more.”
Gaunt nodded understanding. He felt
suddenly weak and sat down with a thud
in the sawdust. But it wasn’t the wound.
It was the heart-deep weariness of a man
facing the fact he’d been wrong most of
his life.
He suddenly noticed the place was rau-
cous with cheers and babble. But it meant
nothing to him—it was like the taste of
gall.
Doc Sawyer was shouldering through,
calling out to give them air. Gaunt nod-
ded toward Oliver.
“Take care of the boy. I can wait.”
Doc paused to shoot him a glance of
appraisal and then his face wreathed with
something deeper than cold respect. It
showed affection. He muttered, ‘“There’s
more than one kind of wrong foot, John,”
as he started ripping away Oliver’s shirt.
“Lucky thing the Almighty gave us two
112
feet so we can change step.”
- Oliver thought he was talking to him. .
He said, “I’ve done changed, Doc.”
Gaunt heard that like the roar of an |
avalanche at a distance. He looked over
at Oliver, estimating him, studying him,
and suddenly he thought to himself, I
believe he did. Right here, tonight. And
he’s a better man for it. I’ll be damned if
I'll let a wild buck like that do something
I can t!
He grinned suddenly, tough and rough
of humor, but feeling better, in a way,
than he had in years. The tight pressure
was gone, the rigid pull of constant sus-
picion and contempt and hate had ceased.
A sheriff could be tough and still a little
tolerant, he guessed. It might make him
friends. It might win him a woman. And
the world was a drab and lonely place
without Corrinne. |
Doc finished his examinations. He said,
“You both need moving to a bed and
nursing. Where do I move you?”
An hour ago, Gaunt would have said,
“Jail for Oliver,” after his admission of
being with the Jacksons. Now he said,
“Well, I reckon Corrinne would put us
>)
up.
“Both of you?” Doc asked with sur-
prise.
“Why not? We’re both friends of her’s,”
Gaunt said.
An odd quiet kind through the crowd.
Nobody quite caught the loose ends, but
they could feel the change. Kind of funny
seeing a wild buckaroo like Chris Oliver
getting noble and Sheriff Gaunt turning
-human—both about’ another man they
‘should be hating.
Kind of funny, but semaine for the
community to chuckle about too. It would
make life a heap. sight easier on the range
if you had a sheriff you could talk to,
and a wild bunch ready to stand in a
pinch on the side of law. This was one
story wouldn’t need any building—even
though there’d be plenty of unanswered
curiosity about the change.
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SENT on TRIAL!
_No...don’t order a Brooks now—FIRST get the complete,
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FREE! Latest Rupture Book Explains All!
SENT YOU IN
PLAIN ENVELOPE JUST CLIP and SEND COUPON see
Brooks Appliance Co., 391-A State St., Marshall, Mich.
THEM
Read These Secicts on Reducible —
Rupture Cases
(In our files at Marshall, Michigan, we
have.over 52,000 gratef ul letters which
“have come to us entirely unsolicited.
and without any sort of payment.)
Never Loses a Day’s Work in Shipyard
4*A few weeks ago I received the Anan you
made for me. I put it on the afternoon I received it
and wouldn’t do without it now. My fellow workers
notice how much better I can do my work and get
around over these ships—and believé me, the work
in a Navy shipyard is anything but easy. You have
been a life saver to me. I never lose a day’s work
now. One of my buddies was ruptured on the job
about two months ago. After seeing my Appliance he
wants me to order: him one.’’ J. A, Comer, 1506 Green
Ave., Orange, Texas.
Perfect Satisfaction in Every Way
‘*I am happy to report that the Appliance that’! re-
ceived from you more than a year ago has. given
perfect satisfaction in every way.
‘In fact, I am not sure I will ever nead another
one, but Iam asking you to send me the. best grade
as marked on the order blank, then if I should ever
need it I would have it. I think I would want te use it
when I go for long walks or work at heavy work
of any kind, just for protection.’’—H. M. Herron,
Moutheard, Ky.
MAIL THIS COUPON NOW!
g SROCKS APPLIANCE CO.
g 391-A State St., Marshall, Mich. -
G Without obligation, please send your FREE
& BOOK on Rupture, PROOF of Results, and
TRIAL OFFER—all in plain envelope.
Name SHHOHSHSESOSHEHEHEHHOEHHEHOSEOBOCHESESORECECHE
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OOO OOS CHE OL OCOOHOEOOOHEECEEOOHOHOH OEE OEE
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= state whether for Man [] Woman [] or Child [J :
Cn Ee ee ee ee
TO READERS
OF THIS |
MAGAZINE.
_ écuttiued pr eR Other Side .
ALL THE GLORY OF THE OLD WEST ---
Its Sweeping Action, Color and Romance—Recaptured i in
Beautiful Volumes Your Family Will Be Proud to Own
= oe is an amazing opportunity!
Now you can bring into your home
The Collected Works of ZANE GR Yy—
in beautiful matched volumes, ‘‘G iden
West De Luxe Editions.” -
Who can ‘read .Zane Grey’s tales and
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action, _ their ‘breathtaking thrills, their
blood-tingling excitement?
Here are fearless men and the women
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and trigger-quick outlaws. Here is the
roar of blazing guns——and the awe-
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How proud you will be to display
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— each book gorgeously bound in beau-
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a tremendous first printing, these hand-
some volumes come to you for /ess than
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Just picture them in your homé —
and imagine the world of pleasure they
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list that follows gives you only. an
inkling of the thrills that await you:
1, CAPTIVES OF THE DESERT. The
brand-new ZANE GREY book. “Your
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2. RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE. Brave
days of old Utah—drenched with blood
of men who gambled their lives for ad-
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3. WILDFIRE. The tempéstuous story of
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Really Luxurious Books!
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7. DESERT GOLD. Spine-tingling adven-
ture of ‘men and women crazed by the
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8. WEST OF THE PECOS. into this land |
of the lawless came a_ hard-riding,
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turned out to be a girl!
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Mighty epic of rfare on the border,
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Panquitch, the phantom
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(ne ec i aetinen line tericttie
READER'S. RESERVATION CARD
‘BLACK’S READERS SERVICE COMPANY
Suite 1000 .
1 Park Avenue, New York 16, N. Y.
‘the Desert;
a thrilling word is cutl =
te party sets out to VICE Co.,
Avenue, New York 16, N. Y. /
The other great volumes include: ® :
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ing Caravans; 15. The Hash Knife,
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Twin Sombreros} 18, The Heritage 3
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Under the Tonto Rim; 21. Rop’ lee’
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93. To The Last Mars; 25. The Ms
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SEND NO MONEY
‘Send no money! Just mail the RES- © .
ERVATION CARD. This entitles you %
to examine the first. volume in the Zane —
Grey “Golden West de Luxe Editions,”’ a
CAPTIVES OF “THE DESERT. A | :
copy will be sent at-once. With it will :
come a special reader's. in- oe
voice for $1.89 as complete [ee
payment, plus a few certs
mailing charge, and com-
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There are positively=no
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come, first served: Send in :
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BLACK’S READERS SER- |
Suite 1000, One ae io
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Please reserve in my name the books listed in your generous offer to readers of
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Grey. Send me at once the first book, CAPTIVES OF THE DESERT. i enclose NO
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few cents mailing charge—and I will be entitled to receive each following Piddeoie
TEAR OUT De Luxe volume as it comes from the press, at the same low price, sending no ‘money
AND MAIL THIS in advance. (Books shipped in v. S.A. only.)
POSTCARD :
OT a es A ab an nti end oe ome ie
® (Please Print Plainly)
NO POSTAGE MIDI SF oo gee mem, Des saa ee a Se
NEEDED i
Gil re i. SAGES PaCS SA ee ae A SEAVER oes sien
po ae = — eo £2
(Sec. 34.9, PLL
% New York,
N
&R):
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me
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